Being a Blythe
by Excel Aunt
Summary: ON HIATUS: An AoGG universe where love and magic are distant cousins and Gilbert Blythe is in the middle of it all! Gilbert Blythe was born with the ability to supernaturally heal but then lost his abilities. Now that Anne has accepted him, and loves him, his shattered abilities fuse back together, but will it be enough to help Anne through a difficult pregnancy?
1. Troth-Plight

Welcome to my story, _Being a Blythe_.

I will admit that the concept of a magical Gilbert Blythe is different, but I'm going to ask you to give it a chance and enjoy yourself. There's a lot of humor in this story too and some turns that explain canon. I'm trying very hard to use and repurpose canon along the way, so this universe, while original, should still feel a lot like LMM's. That will be especially true at the beginning.

This story was originally conceived as an Anne and Gilbert story, but you'll discover in the following chapters I feature a lot of Avonlea. I have included the characters Diana, Fred, Marilla, Mrs Lynde, Davy, Dora, Charlie, and many others into the main narrative. Some characters have big arcs, like Davy falling in love. Others are small, like Miss Minerva Tomgallon inviting Anne to Tomgallon House, whether big or small, nearly all my narrative relates either to canon proper or my own Alternative Universe.

Finally, I am indebted to my reviewers for their well thought out comments and book club style posts. It is worth reading those reviews, as they are hilarious for their own right and works of excellence.

* * *

Timeline - I start my story between _Anne of the Island_ and _Anne of Windy Poplars._ Gilbert has proposed a second time to Anne and she has accepted his proposal of marriage.

The date of engagement is modified to August to allow additional time between the books.

* * *

 **Chapter 1:** **Troth-Plight**

"Oh Gilbert! What am I going to do?" Anne Shirley, twenty-two asked her beloved.

They were walking very animatedly out of Avonlea on their favorite road; a road lined with large trees with full leafy canopies and wildflowers abloom in the clearings. Anne was acting out her frustrations as she repeated parts of the letter to Gilbert Blythe, aged twenty-five. "You see here," Anne pointed to Diana's neat handwriting. "She says, she's 'afeared' we cannot call on them in Charlottetown when we go. Oh Gil, since when has Diana used the word 'afeared' for anything? It just seems wrong."

"Well, we can hardly expect that Fred and Diana have much time for old chums when they have Fred Junior to take care of." He grabbed Anne's hand and pulled her closer to him, removing her from the path of a bicyclist.

Anne was always sort of oblivious to her surroundings when Gilbert was in her company.

They continued to hold hands as they rambled down the lane towards Green Gables. It was a nice August, cooler than many in Anne's memory, but the sweetest part about this August was their engagement at the very beginning of it. Their happy news had finally reached the ears to most in the area; Avonlea, White Sands, East Grafton, and Carmody. Anne and Gilbert were relieved to find themselves back to normal as their news ceased to be gossip and was now part of the landscape.

"Diana's word choice reminds me of Josie Pye trying to wish me a happy engagement at church." Anne leaned on Gilbert a tiny bit and wrapped her arm around his waist and giggled. "You should have been there. It was _killing_ her to say it, so she said, 'Anne, I hope you and Gilbert have a happy troth-plight.'" Anne laughed and laughed at the memory. "I have no idea where she found such a highfalutin word, if there is one quality about Josie I do like, its her excellent command over the very simple ones."

Gilbert brightened as he added to the conversation. "Actually Anne, I think _you_ may have taught her that word. You had that very phrase in _Averil's Atonement_. So, _you_ only have _yourself_ to blame." He said that with dancing hazel eyes before tapping her nose in a teasing way. She glared at him as if to say, "Just try that again, bud!" But he leaned over and kissed her instead.

"Gilbert Blythe!" Anne said all wide-eyed, and now quite flustered too. "And here I thought Josie Pye was trying to be nice! I should have known she was mocking me."

"Well, there's always next time Anne." Gilbert encouraged.

"There may not be time for any more fun this summer," Anne said. "I have so much shopping and sewing to do, I've got to get some new winter dresses made and put some books on order. Do you have all of your things for medical school?"

"I have everything ordered but a lot of it hasn't arrived. That's one of my things to do when we go up." Gilbert said. "Since Beechwood is not possible, with Fred and Diana staying there, I have a great aunt in Charlottetown, so maybe we can impose on her a little between our shopping. And there is one thing we must do." He said it firmly.

"No Gil!" Anne said. "I don't want you to go to the expense."

"But Anne. You have to have a ring so those Summerside fellows know you're mine. I'm not going to share."

"No," Anne said stubbornly.

"Anne. We're shopping for an engagement ring."

Anne relented once she saw Gilbert wasn't going to be persuaded. If she didn't go shopping with him, he was likely to pick out the most expensive ring in the store. "Fine, you win. But no gemstones. Can I at least have your word on that?"

"Whatever you want." Gilbert smiled but he grew quiet as he squeezed her hand. "It's the first step towards 'us.'"

Anne's eyes crawled up to his. He was suddenly a bit too reflective, and his normal joking manners were put away.

"Mr. Blythe, if I didn't know better, I would say that there's something you want to tell me, but you don't know how to say it."

"I do need to talk to you about something. I've been trying to these last few days." He grabbed her elbow from behind, bringing her next to him. "It's sort of different, Anne."

"What is it?"

He took Anne's hand, held it, hoping that what he had to say wouldn't go horribly wrong. Her fingers clung to his as she noticed a shakiness in his confidence. He sheepishly smiled as they found a pocket of solitude on a public road.

"I'm not _teasing_ you on this one," Gilbert confided. "This might sound silly. Thankfully I know you have a big imagination and I'm going to ask you to use every little bit of it."

"Alright, Gil?"

"I want you to close your eyes for a second, and think on…" He leaned into her just a bit, trying to make his presence overshadow hers. "Just think on, what _our_ _children_ will be like."

" _Our children_?"

Anne thought the way he said it was poetic. To be honest, Anne was preoccupied with thoughts of their romance. She so enjoyed his kisses, she had to wear a small lace choker to cover the evidence of them. Anne's cheeks grew hot at the thought of the more intimate moments they'd aspire to. They had only just begun to dance, so to speak, but to get to his daydream, she had to live through hers. Anne was more than a little bit vexed as he rushed her past.

Gilbert folded her arms for the imaginary child. "Think about it for a second, how does it feel to hold our baby?"

"Well, it's wonderful of course," Anne said gasping. Then she opened her eyes, and paused in thought, deciding whether or not to share. "Gilbert, I do think we're going to have twins someday. I've _always_ been surrounded by them, everywhere I go. I'd be so surprised if we don't."

"Twins?" Gilbert repeated in a stunned voice. Anne had knocked him off track with her most agreeable contribution. "Do you really think so?"

"Oh, I can see them now. You've given me a son, and he's the most beautiful creature ever made, except for his sister... They're…" Anne's breath caught in her throat as she envisioned them. "Gilbert, I can't wait to meet them. _Our children_."

"Would that feeling change if they inherited a … special ability?" Gilbert watched her eyes closely, looking for discomfort. There was no change.

"You mean like my gift for imagination?"

"No," Gilbert said. "I mean more like the gift of prophecy."

Anne laughed. "I suppose next you'll say clairvoyance and such."

"Yes, that's exactly what I mean." He stuck his hands into his trouser's pockets and watched the daydream slip away from Anne.

"As much as I would love to believe that magic and fairies and witches were real, I know they are not."

But Gilbert persisted in testing her, he had to know. "But would you still love them, our twins? If one's a witch and the other is not. They're loved the same, right?"

"Gilbert Blythe, of course, I love them," Anne said crossly, doing her best Marilla Cuthbert impression. "What kind of mother do you think I'm going to be?"

Gilbert was relieved. "I'm so glad to hear you say that. It's not going to matter if they have magical powers or not. Of course, they probably won't – but they could."

"What?" Anne brought her hand to her forehead. "You're talking nonsense. I need you to speak plainly now."

Gilbert breathed slowly, trying not to feel ridiculous.

"I'm a Blythe, Anne. That doesn't mean anything to folks on Prince Edward Island, but back in ol' England, my ancestors were burned at the stake for witchcraft. We have all sorts of magic in our bloodline, and although it's very hard to say we'd procreate another witch, you should know, in case it does happen."

"You're serious!" Anne was flabbergasted. She scrambled into the hot sunshine to sober herself giving Gilbert "Good Grief" looks all the while. But to Gilbert, Anne didn't cry or bemoan his news. She had taken it in, as extraordinary as it was, and held it, even if for one moment.

"But you believe me! That's what's important and you'll love them regardless. Dad will be pleased. He was so adamant that I tell you and not repeat his mistake."

"Oh Gilbert, I think I need to sit down," Anne pleaded. "Or loosen my corset strings, or maybe whack you on the head."

"There are no slates nearby...and I would _love_ to loosen your corset strings, but this is unfortunately not the time or place. So let's go and rest next to this big birch tree and I'll continue my confession. For there is more you must now know, about being a Blythe.

"Anne, I love you with all my being, but I've never told anyone what I'm going to tell you." Gilbert held her hand again. He looked straight into her soul as he spoke the strangest words Anne had ever hear him utter. "My grandparents were witches and some of their abilities skipped over Dad and landed on _me_. I could do all sorts when I was little because you're strongest when you're young and innocent. But my Dad never prepared my mother for a child like me, and she couldn't handle it. They separated for a while because of it. She had no idea what to do with a little boy that could make tea cups levitate. But what I was really good at was healing. And thank God I was because I healed my father when he came down with consumption. After that, my powers died. But I'm still a Blythe, the legacy doesn't go away, it could still be passed down."

When Gilbert started his speech, Anne was seriously staring back into his eyes to see if any sanity was left. She knew that he was crazy for her, but typhoid fever must have addled his brains. Instead, she saw her reflection on his iris and she felt oddly reassured and comforted. She knew he was telling the truth, and he was still _her_ Gilbert. She swallowed the whole world pressing up in her throat and realized he could have been from the moon and it wouldn't have mattered. She knew she belonged to him and always had.

"Anne?"

He had stopped talking, slowly waiting for her response. Anne's eyebrow squished up and furrowed accepting the history. She echoed his last words.

"Your magic died?"

"Yes, but I don't care. I spent them on my father so he could live and losing them helped my parents reconcile. Although, I am still drawn to healing people. I'm determined to be a doctor of science; because in actuality, it's a much safer and more reliable medicine."

She was struggling with the news more than she wanted Gilbert to know, but she reassured him with a pat on his arm. "I always knew there was a thread of truth in fairy tales. Who else knows about this?"

Gilbert chuckled, for Anne was going to get another surprise. "My father told Miss Cuthbert when they were courting. It was the reason why she refused him. Her reaction was also the reason why he didn't tell my mother."

"Marilla _Cuthbert_? Oh, surely not!"

"Oh yes, indeed Anne Shirley." Gilbert's voice had lightened and their stroll continued. "Miss Cuthbert actually handled it better than you'd first think according to Dad, but no one else in Avonlea knows now."

They had reached Green Gables and Gilbert and Anne continued talking at the gate.

"So, do I go home worried?" Gilbert reached for her hand and she let him hold it.

Anne shook her head to reply. She cast her eyes to the horizon, as the sun settled in for bed. "I… don't know what I'm thinking. You have nothing left of your powers? Are you sure?"

"I haven't done anything since I came back from Alberta as a child. I swear. My powers have been blocked since."

"You couldn't even heal yourself last month? Could someone in your family had done it?"

"'There's the rub'." Gilbert quoted. "The problem is you can have all this power, but you can't use it selfishly. You can't heal yourself, and you're not supposed to heal your family, there are consequences. The truth is _nobody_ can figure out how I healed my father, but I'm sure that's the reason why I lost my powers." He picked up her hand and kissed it. "The owner of this hand did more just by loving me from afar."

 **to be continued**


	2. Marital Advice

Timeline - Still between _Anne of the Island_ and _Anne of Windy Poplars._

* * *

 **Chapter 2: Marital Advice**

It was dark when Anne and Gilbert finally said goodnight. Anne walked towards the house. There was enough ambient light pushing at the porch spindles to cast their slender shadows on the front lawn. There they turned and shimmied like Turkish dervishes as Anne opened the door. She slipped off her shoes before shutting it as quietly as possible. The door latched audibly. Anne froze and waited for discovery. No one came. Carefully, as to not wake Davy and Dora; the Green Gable twins, or Mrs. Lynde, or Marilla, she stole into the kitchen to get a slice of bread and a glass of water before bed. She did not know how hungry she truly was until her teeth cut through the crust.

What a night and what a story!

Now that she was inside, away from Gilbert; and away from the romantic twinkly lights of fireflies; and away from the mists floating from the Haunted Woods; she wondered and worried. Did she dream up their conversation? It sounded like something she could have concocted. She used to have the most magnificent daydreams in her youth. Was everything that Gilbert said a trick of her mind? It had to be so, at least that was how she felt standing in Marilla's kitchen. All her daydreams had died in this room. Anne had spent many an afternoon scrubbing reality into the darken floorboards. She saw effort and elbow-grease all around the spotless kitchen, but not magic. She knew she couldn't believe in magic standing where she was. It was impossible.

But when Anne closed her gray eyes other memories from the night came forward: Gilbert's hazel eyes were all soft and glazed as he spoke. He was looking for her acceptance: He was looking for her faith. She loved him too much not to give it. How could she not continue to embrace him; and how could she not let him love her; especially when his kisses were so fine. His story didn't make sense but it didn't have to make sense. She told herself, she didn't have to do anything but love him; and loving Gilbert Blythe was so easy for her to do.

Anne opened her eyes and caught her reflection in the cabinet's glass doors. Her imaginary friend Katie Maurice was looking back, her hair just as red as Anne's, her eyes were mysterious now. Anne stepped closer, seeing Katie's face change to her own. Anne's neck displayed a string of purple bruises which she camouflaged with her lace choker once again. Gilbert was eager in _everything_ regarding Anne Shirley. Even from their first meeting, he had shown this quality.

What about before? They had both existed in a time and place before Avonlea. She had always wondered about his time in Alberta. His father went west for his health and took Gilbert with him, away from his mother. _Why?_ Why would an ailing parent do that if they thought their own death was near? Wouldn't it make more sense for Gilbert to have stayed with his mother in Avonlea? She had an answer now, even if she had to ferret it out and piece it together. Gilbert was to heal his father under the sanitorium's cloak. Prairie cure indeed! John Blythe overcame consumption supernaturally.

 _Oh, poor Ruby Gillis._

That thought overwhelmed Anne with its suddenness. Their friend had died from consumption a few summers ago. It must have been harder for Gilbert than what Anne realized, knowing if he only had his powers, he could have stopped it. It suddenly seemed very unfair and disabling. Anne appreciated in a whole new way why Gilbert wanted to be a doctor. He lived in a horrid shallow of inequity; becoming a physician made restitution for all those people he wanted to help, but couldn't.

Anne also knew Gilbert had put a lot of thought into how to tell her his secrets. Maybe his comments to her were years in the making. He had rather expertly soothed her into his world. He made her concentrate on something beyond herself and beyond him too. _Their_ c _hildren._ For the first time ever, Anne Shirley realized that she would be a mother someday. What would it be like to raise a magical child, if it were a Blythe like Gilbert?

All of these thoughts were pressing so hard on her mind, she barely noticed a visitor entering the kitchen. Mrs. Lynde was there, staring at her peculiarly. Her floral robe was wrapped tightly around her front and her hair was in curlers. She had a lamp in one hand and under her arm was a box of chocolate caramels from Blair's. Anne then remembered Mrs. Lynde had visited her son in Carmody that afternoon.

"I wanted to be sure you knew how to get out of the kitchen. You've been in here for the last twenty minutes," Mrs. Lynde said. She frowned. "Is something wrong?"

"Oh, I'm sorry," Anne answered. "I came in here for some bread and butter and I got stuck in a thought."

The widow was not satisfied with Anne's response. It was more than just a mere thought. Whatever it was, it was consuming her. Mrs. Lynde was the type of person that didn't beat around the bush when she had a hunch. Taking a step closer to Anne, she called, "Come here, Anne Shirley. Let me get a good look at you."

Anne inched her way closer to Mrs. Lynde who held her lamp up to Anne's face and shoulders.

"Umph! Take it off, the choker." She said.

"Mrs. Lynde," Anne said. "I don't think that's..." However, Anne saw her efforts to save herself from disgrace were making it worse. "Fine." Anne removed the choker which revealed the love bites Gilbert left.

"Well, I knew it. Marilla's an old spinster, probably never crossed her mind why you'd be wearing something so old-fashioned and uncomfortable in August, but I thought to myself. 'She's engaged now. There might be more hanky-panky than we know.' Not to mention the fact I _invented_ that trick. I might be older than the hills now but I was young once too." She brought the light in closer to Anne's fair skin. "Oh, don't look that way, Anne! I've seen worse on my own daughters and they were much younger than yourself."

"I've had a really strange night, Mrs. Lynde," Anne said rubbing her neck. She moved across the kitchen to peer out of the window framed above the sink. The moon was fuller than full. _How appropriate._

"Just how strange are we talking about? Do I have to buy you a chastity belt?"

"No, not that.." Anne chuckled. She knew Mrs. Lynde wasn't truly serious. "We're going to do things _properly_ , of course. You know Gil's a member of the church."

"Well, what have you been thinking about that's kept you so long in here?" Mrs. Lynde said in a tone that invited confidences.

"Our children," Anne whispered back. "It was something Gilbert said." She tried to brush it away.

Mrs. Lynde smiled at Anne, pleased to see an innocent curiosity frightening her.

"You're thinking about the makin' of them, aren't you." Mrs. Lynde said. "That's what. I know that look, my own girls had it especially fixed on their faces the night before they wed. And Anne, you know you're like a daughter to me too. You can ask me anything about - _the deed_." Mrs. Lynde rolled her brown eyes in the direction of Marilla's bedroom. "Let's face it, Marilla's not going to be much help in the marital advice department."

Anne stared back at Mrs. Lynde, frozen. That was not what she was thinking about at all, but she did strike a chord and its tone resonated inside her from head to toe. She did want to talk about _it_ because Gilbert was awakening thoughts and passions in her that she didn't know she had. She knew that Diana would never talk that frankly, but Mrs. Lynde had no problems in saying it like it was. Mrs. Lynde took Anne's wide-eyed response as confirmation.

"Let's go to the porch and you can have some of these caramels Robert bought for me," She smiled, tapping the box.

*/*/*

* * *

"What's your question, Anne?"

The lamp was hung on a hook from the veranda's ceiling and they sat in their porch rockers. A small tea table separated the two women. The chocolates were picked over and Anne couldn't talk on account of the candies. She just made her expressive eyes look really big and then nodded. She had no idea how Mrs. Lynde would translate her gesture.

"I see, you don't waste any time, do you?" Mrs. Lynde swallowed. "Well, I'm goin' to be honest with you Anne. It's really uncomfortable the first few times," Rachel confided. "I sort of worry about it for you as you're so small and delicate, and Gilbert's – not. But rest assured, that will work in your favor later on." She winked and patted Anne's' knee.

 _Gulp._

Anne wasn't sure she wanted to be there anymore. She took two more candies out of the now half-empty box and started to chew, choking down its cloying taste. She told herself she could run if she had to. Mrs. Lynde kept talking.

"...it's about trust, you know. Always work to build it up, never to tear it down." She said. "But on that first night, when he comes to you, be happy and don't fret. I am sure he'll be as gentle as possible. Gilbert loves you to pieces. That's been clear for a long while now. Kissing is sweet but love-making can be a tricky business - especially at first. Be brave and tell Gilbert what you want, because it will help both of you grow closer to each other."

"Why are you telling me this – now?" Anne asked trying to veil her discomfort. She thought that she might be sweating under such vivid illuminations. "We're not going to the altar any day soon. We plan to be engaged for three years."

"Oh, I'm just excited for you," Mrs. Lynde confided. "There's something very pleasing about you ending up with Gilbert Blythe. I always said you two were so well matched; in looks and in brains. But I suppose I miss being a mother. I miss talking to my girls. And three years is a long ways off, I know. I'm an old woman and I may not be around then. I grow sad just thinking that there's this possibility, I won't see you married. You never know what Providence will bring."

* * *

The next morning started earlier for Anne than what she would have liked. Dora Keith woke her up when she brought Anne hot water for her basin and a clean face cloth. Dora had grown tall during Anne's last year at Redmond, but in personality, she was still very much the same obedient girl that entered Green Gables with her twin brother Davy. Davy had been the mischievous one, a holy terror, but he was likable. Dora was pleasant, but it was hard to truly know her. Anne had always struggled a little bit to connect with her would-be sister because Dora possessed sense and reason that only an old soul would have. Anne had yet to aspire to her level of maturity; and in that way, Dora was the older of the two.

Dora stood in the doorway for a minute and looked as if she wanted to say something to Anne. Anne was brushing out her hair from a night's sleep, unconcerned about her loitering.

"Anne?" Dora said quietly.

Anne peered up to look at the girl whose long blonde braids hung to her hips. "Is something wrong?"

Dora opened her mouth but didn't speak loudly enough to be heard. Instead, they heard Davy shout from downstairs. "Anne, you have a visitor!"

Dora's face fell as Anne jumped up and put on her robe and checked her reflection.

"I have no idea why he's here so early," Anne said to Dora, obviously thrilled for the interruption. Anne paused, seeing Dora deflate. "Are you all right, dear?"

"Yes, I suppose," Dora said. "I'll find you later."

* * *

To Marilla's horror, Anne flew downstairs half dressed. Her hair was unbraided and it trailed behind her like a big red curtain. She swung her hair over her left shoulder to display her crown properly to young Mr. Blythe, who was grinning ear to ear to see her so unkempt.

"Anne Shirley, you get back upstairs right now and get some clothes on, I will not have this in my home." Marilla Cuthbert said with such ferociousness that Gilbert stopped smiling and gave Miss Cuthbert a wide berth.

"Oh, Marilla!" Anne said, "Gil doesn't mind. I let the chickens see me like this all the time, don't I?"

"And you scare them too," Davy said in passing. Anne wrapped her robe around her a little tighter in response and started a loose braid.

"What is so wrong with coming downstairs dressed?" Marilla asked. "You need to be able to present yourself."

"Anne's right, I do not mind...much," Gilbert said quite hesitantly now. "But I'm only here to say I won't be around for a couple of days. I'm going over to New Brunswick to help my cousin move to Avonlea, we got a telegram last night. I'll ferry over today and get her loaded. She's a seamstress and is trying to break out on her own, but Helen, my cousin, she has quite a lot of machines to haul and it's going to take two days. Anyway, Anne, Miss Cuthbert will you come for dinner on Sunday? You can meet her then."

"I suppose we could do that," Marilla said not waiting for Anne to reply. Of course, it was only a formality. They all knew Anne would go. "I'll send Anne up to your place to let Geraldine know as you'll be off the island. Gilbert, would you like some coffee while Anne gets dressed for breakfast." Marilla said haltingly, stressing her displeasure in Anne's appearance.

Gilbert frowned, "I would but I'm already running late, just needed to see Anne before leaving."

"I'll walk you to the wagon," Anne said putting her arm into his, much to Marilla's exasperation.

* * *

Anne stayed at home the rest of the day and worked diligently on packing for her new post as Principal of Summerside High School. She was confident in the classroom work, having taught at the school in Avonlea for two years, as well as random summer schools, but this contract would have her also responsible for a small staff. Anne knew she was qualified for the position, but it was very overwhelming to think that her success would affect others directly. It was not going to be just her and the board, but then she was going to be paid accordingly for her additional responsibilities.

For her off time, Anne was already making plans. Summerside was on the same train line as Charlottetown and Carmody, and it wasn't that far from Kingsport via ferry. As long as her money held out for fares, she would visit Redmond College and Green Gables on alternating weekends. Although, strictly speaking, she wouldn't be going to Kingsport to visit Gilbert at medical school. She would be going to Kingsport to visit the alumni library, or she so deviously pre-decided. She was not sure how the school board would react if they knew she was seeing her fiancé on such weekends.

She had procured a map of Summerside through Mrs. Lynde's friend, one Mrs. Braddock, who was a resident. Anne studied it assiduously to find the high school and to find Mrs. Thomas Pringle's home, where the principals boarded according to the contract. Anne traced the streets she would walk with her slender finger. The entire town was sprawled out on a concave harbor. This half-moon of the shoreline made it such a natural port, the first of Prince Edward Island. The streets would make such delightful walking for they were quite long, with many bends to enjoy, and ancient histories to discover. There was one bridge that connected the markets by the seaside to the fancy old homes of the shipping captains and admirals. If your means were more modest you'd walk around the convex shoreline to get home. Anne thought both could potentially be lovely walks. The first offered a vista of scenery; fancy gardens and old trees that would sway gently in the winds; and the latter would offer interesting people to meet, with salty old sea hands and bustling shoppers peppering the way.

Anne valiantly attempted a brave face trying to find potential gemstones in the city that would be her home. She was really thinking about how Gilbert wouldn't be there. Even when their conversations had been sorely strained the last few terms at Redmond, Anne always felt secure knowing Gilbert was still around, somewhere to be seen, or talked to if she missed him. It would be the first time since her own arrival in Avonlea that Gilbert would not be in close proximity to her. She was now glad she had agreed to accept his ring, in spite of the expense it would cause him. She needed the reassurance of his promise. Three years would be such a long time. They would have to make the most of their holidays.

* * *

When Anne went downstairs from her gable room to fetch a few books from the parlor she found Marilla and Mrs. Lynde waiting for her. They asked her to sit down for a few minutes. Anne did so but was not certain of their motives. It wasn't going to be idle chit-chat, for the sewing was put away and the twins had been shooed off to the barn to do chores.

"Anne," Marilla started. "Rachel has some news that makes me concerned."

Anne blanched remembering Mrs. Lynde from last night and the chocolates and could hardly breathe as her lungs bore up against her corsets. She thought she could trust Mrs. Lynde not to expose their conversation.

"I have learned that there is an engaged young lady from Avonlea very much in the family way," Mrs. Lynde said. "No, Anne. I will not tell you who, you don't need to know that. But she is a member of the church and a member of a very prominent family here in Avonlea.

"My concern is Anne," Marilla added. "That you should be aware that even those with reputations for probity can make poor decisions with regards to matters of the heart. I would encourage you to slow down a bit with Gilbert. I found your behavior this morning shocking."

"Because I was in my nightclothes?" Anne asked as she looked back to the landing where she greeted Gilbert. "I'm sorry, but when it comes to him, I just don't care. If he calls for me, I will go to him."

Mrs. Lynde didn't say anything, but she did give Anne a sympathetic look. She had felt the same way about her Thomas.

"And that is precisely the problem. Don't you think the two of you are moving a bit too quickly? You have three years to go, slow down."

Anne let her jaw drop showing hurt.

"We'd never! Not until the right time of course!" Anne said turning green with anger, her eyes on fire with tears. "You don't understand what it's like. He was dying and he lived because I loved him after all."

"Oh, Anne! I won't pretend I know what it's like to be engaged," Marilla continued. "And maybe I've allowed you too much latitude when you accepted him, coming and going at all hours. I know you two have a bit of catching up to do, that's why I allowed it, but I do expect you to tow the line in decorum, especially in front of Davy and Dora, who are looking up to you both."

"Marilla, Anne didn't really do anything that wrong. She had her robe on over her nightdress. There was also ten miles of red hair covering her."

Marilla put up her hand to block Rachel's speech. "All I want from you is to see more restraint," Marilla said. "If not for the two of you, then for those around you."

"Alright Marilla," Anne said. "I'll try."

"And Rachel and I have been talking, we think it's not in your best interest to visit Gilbert in Kingsport. According to Rachel's friend, Mrs. Braddock, folks from Summerside ferry to and from Kingsport all the time, but we agree that you should not. For one thing, the folks of Summerside, they don't know you. They may jump to the very worst conclusions if you do try and visit him. And it probably wouldn't help Gilbert along in his coursework. You'd be a great distraction, even if it were a welcomed one."

Anne sat in front of the ladies; who she knew both loved her and wanted the very best for her, feeling a bit drained and peaked. "I don't know what to say," Anne confessed. "If the two of you think it's for the best, I won't." But her heart broke as she said it.

The three women sat there for a few minutes in a silent lull that was only broken with sounds from the outside. Eventually, it was Mrs. Lynde that excused herself. "Well, now that that's over, I'm goin' to find out what the heck is wrong with Dora, she's been a mite shiftless lately."

Once Mrs. Lynde had left the room Anne spoke to Marilla. She wasn't sure when they'd be completely alone again like this, free to talk.

"There's something else bothering me. Gilbert told me a little about the Blythe family - you know, the ones from the old country." She popped her eyebrow up high and Marilla flinched.

Anne didn't need to look at Marilla to know she was clenching her teeth together. She said nothing at first...and then, she got up and brought out a bottle of red currant wine she kept behind a cabinet door with a couple of tumblers. She poured herself a generous portion and one for Anne too.

She handed Anne's glass to her, she then said, "You mean the Blythe's that burned at the stake?"

Their eyes met in perfect understanding. Marilla downed her glass in one motion.

"It's been a long time since I've talked about this. It's hard for me, and the wine helps. I was wondering if Gilbert would tell you, I thought he would, but I was beginning to think I'd have to." Marilla stood shaking her head as she recalled the past. "I was so mad at John when he told me. He spoiled everything. I just knew I would have to refuse him. I wasn't made to be the type of wife he needed." She chuckled, "It's funny in hindsight. Oh, how his mother hated my decision. Just hated it! But I knew, I had thought that there was no way I could handle a child with such potentially unpredictable ways."

To this statement, Anne launched into giggles and sipped her wine. Anne had been quite the collection of peculiar habits that Marilla had to break when Matthew brought her home. Marilla gave a big, warm smile to Anne. Some folks on the island didn't know Marilla could smile so big and bright, but Anne knew.

"I was wrong of course," Marilla admitted. "You, Anne with an 'e', were probably worst for odd behavior than any child John and I could have had together - magical or not."

"That's why you two quarreled?" Anne asked.

"It was," Marilla said. "But then he married Geraldine and Gilbert came along a few years later. Everyone was so surprised that in their advanced age they could have a child, but I knew better. I knew John's parents had helped with some herb or potion."

Anne still sipping, "Do you regret your quarrel still."

"I regret that I didn't forgive him for not telling me sooner," Marilla said. "Because I was never mad at him for being from such a family, but I was furious with him for making me love him when I knew in my heart our marriage wouldn't work. That was such a long time ago.

"My parents and his parents were good friends and traded work. Their entire family would come here, or we'd go there. John and Geraldine's marriage was tested to the limit with Gilbert. Sometimes she'd come over here and cry her eyes out to me, who else could she lament too? Who else knew her exact situation? She felt so betrayed by John for not explaining to her. John decided to chance that the legacy would not be passed down. But then Gilbert was a Blythe after all. I guess even for his people he was exceptionally gifted, which was so surprising because John had no ability whatsoever. Geraldine and I used to talk for hours about it." Marilla remembered. "I suppose it would make more sense to be jealous of her, and maybe at times I was, but I did like her so. She was unlike me in about every way. It's probably why we were good friends. It's a pity we fell out shortly after they reconciled."

"But you never saw them do magic, did you?" Anne said, putting her tumbler down, now empty. "Gil said that he could do things when he was little but that has all left him now."

"See, no. Experience, yes!" Marilla answered. "John would get Gilbert to do pranks on me. They would come over to help Matthew with some chore, and when they left I would have this horrible, anxious feeling I was missing something. It took me a while to figure out Gilbert was picking up my shadow and taking it home with him. Goin' an afternoon without your shadow is nerve-wracking."

"Did Matthew know then?"

"I honestly don't know," Marilla wondered. "I know I never talked about it to Matthew and Matthew never talked at all about anything he didn't have to. But, he was very observant, so I suspect it's possible he did."

"But you didn't tell anyone!"

"Who would believe me?" Marilla said a little louder than expected. "No, it's better to play the cards you have. My trump card is no-nonsense. You might be able to get away with such stories but I knew I could not. Maybe that's what Gilbert saw in you when you were little and your life had so many endless, magical daydreams. Maybe he saw at first someone that would understand."

 **to be continued**


	3. Curses

Timeline - Still between _Anne of the Island_ and _Anne of Windy Poplars._

* * *

 **Chapter 3: Curses**

Gilbert was gone on Friday and Saturday which made for a very long weekend. At first, Anne thought, "What's he doing now? How is he holding up?" Begrudgingly she realized that thinking about him all the time wasn't going to get her through a three-year engagement. She banished such reflections and tried to find the bright side of missing him. She used the extra time his absence afforded to write her roommates from Patty's Place.

Anne drafted a particularly long document for Phil Blake. She owed a lot of her current happiness to Mrs. Blake for it was her letter to Gilbert to 'try again' that brought them back together with friendship and mutual love. Anne confessed to Phil about her "book of revelations" that she bitterly read that evening she thought Gilbert dying. "Phil, I just knew then that I had always loved him. Always." Anne paused before she finished the next line. "Everything is so right in the world now, it just feels like magic."

Perhaps it actually was.

Saturday she spent time baking a cake for Mrs. Blythe's Sunday dinner. She had an inexhaustible supply of baking powder at her disposal from the Rollings Reliable Baking Powder Company. Anne was very careful to make sure it tasted nice, with vanilla flavoring, as opposed to anodyne liniment. Dora helped her ice the layers later that evening, and Anne inquired about the other morning when Dora wanted to ask her something. Dora flushed a bit and explained, whilst Davy annoyed them for food, that she had forgotten what she wanted to ask. This irritated Anne because Dora was lying. Dora never forgot anything, but Anne said nothing more.

That night Anne felt a little sulky and displaced. She took to her room with her worn copy of _Jane Eyre_ and wished not to be disturbed unless Gilbert stopped by. He would be back in Avonlea late that evening. Anne tried to stay awake but gave in as the house fell into its own slumber. Who was she to argue? She would see him all day tomorrow.

Sunday morning started in a rush. Once again, Anne rested longer than she had intended, and, after examining the state of her drawers, she understood why she felt a bit run down. Her mood had been affected by more than just missing Gilbert, it was also her time to flower.

This put a sarcastic edge on her thoughts. __Great. Wonderful. Just perfect.__ Today she needed to feel and look her best. She was expected at the Blythes after church. It was the last time she could eat with them before leaving for Summerside. And, she supposed, she was really wanted there given the news she had just received from Gilbert. But panic hit her heart, terrifying her to her core, as she realized her ragbag was just about empty. What was left was not enough for the day, much less a week. She'd have to make an excuse and stay home. And what would she tell Gil? _Oh, goodness!_ What could she tell Gil? _I can't leave the house because I have no rags?_

"Marilla!" Anne shouted in a way that made Marilla reminisce for days gone by. Anne ran downstairs to the kitchen almost knocking Davy over as he left the house to hitch up the buggy.

"Did you move all my rags?" Anne said. "I can't find hardly any. They're gone!"

Mrs. Rachel Lynde put down her tea and tried to say something but was not heard.

"What do you mean they're gone!" Marilla said horrified.

"I only have one or two left in my bag. I'm supposed to be with Gilbert's people today, and I…oh! There's no time to make new ones before church! Maybe Mrs. Barry can help me?" Anne wished Diana still lived at Orchard Slope at that moment. "Who would take my rags?"

"Well I don't know, but it certainly wasn't me or Rachel."

"Might I suggest that you check with Dora? Oh, don't look for her now, she left early to walk with Minnie May Barry to Sunday School. But if you think about it, she's been such a quiet thing lately. I wonder if she's trying to tell the two of you something. But you Anne, you're hard to find these days, and when you are here it's a constant stream of 'Gilbert this' or 'Gilbert that'. And Marilla, you're not as crisp as you used to be, Anne's mellowed you some, but a personality like Dora's is too meek to find you approachable on _this_ subject."

"Of course, Dora," Anne gasped with empathy. "Oh, how awful of me. I cut her off the other morning when she was trying to tell me something. This must have been it. And she wouldn't talk with me with Davy around yesterday. I take it she talked with you, Mrs. Lynde?"

"She did," Mrs. Lynde replied. "But it wasn't much of a conversation, that's what! And I never told her to steal your rags."

Marilla grabbed the edge of the kitchen counter and frowned. "I should have seen it coming. She's twelve now. Maybe if she were a year older, I might have. I'll check with her this evening."

"But what do I do meanwhile?" Anne implored. "You know Mrs. Blythe has made a big feast for dinner and I am wanted there. You too Marilla, maybe you can explain with an excuse?"

Marilla snapped her head in quick disagreement. "Anne Shirley, you are the star of the show. If you don't go, I have no business being there. And, I am not _explaining_ either. You are old enough, and smart enough, to solve your own problems. Now stop fretting and figure out who you need to tell."

Mrs. Lynde and Marilla started to make their way to leave. Marilla took off her apron and Mrs. Lynde put on her best hat, an atrocious thing in Anne's opinion, with fake flowers and gingham lining.

"I can't tell Gilbert!" Anne cried.

"There's nothing to do _but_ tell Gilbert why you can't come to dinner, but I am _not_ going to do it," Marilla said as she looked out the front window. "Davy's holding the horse for us, Rachel. Hurry up."

"Mrs. Lynde, can you give Gil some excuse at church?" Anne pleaded, walking with her to the door.

"Well, I could, but I won't," Mrs. Lynde replied. She paused at the door. "It is a real conundrum you've found yourself in, no doubt about that. Given who you are and who Gilbert is, I don't think the situation would be helped with a feeble excuse. You and Gilbert will be dealing with this matter most of your married lives. There's no point in delaying it. And you're in luck Anne, for I see him coming now."

Anne felt as if she were going to faint.

* / * / *

* * *

Marilla who still wanted to teach Anne a lesson about going around the house half-dressed told Gilbert when passing he could help himself inside, not knowing for sure if Anne would receive him. "She's fine Gilbert, she's flustered beyond belief, but perfectly fine otherwise. Help yourself in if she doesn't answer."

Marilla's reaction confused Gilbert, especially in contrast with his visit two days ago. He felt like a fly walking into a spider's web as he knocked on the oak door. There was no answer. Gilbert then proceeded inside and stood in the foyer a moment before calling.

"Anne?"

He was carrying a small gift his cousin Helen had bundled for Anne. She had insisted that he take it to her. All she said was Anne needed it.

"Anne," Gilbert said as he came deeper inside the abode. She saw him from down the hall and dread filled her eyes. Her red braids snapped left to right as she turned. He could hear her fret.

Gilbert had to know now what was happening. He went to the end of the corridor and found Anne in the kitchen.

"What is it, Anne? Why aren't you dressed for church?" He nudged her around to face him.

She thought he looked quite handsome, wearing the tie that matched his eyes. His handsome looks made her impossible task harder. "Gil, I'm not ready to go anywhere right now," she said a tad more dramatic than necessary.

"I can see that, Carrots," He tweaked her braids, but she pushed him away.

"I have a big problem right now. I can't talk to you about it." Anne said in tears. "I'd be so humiliated. I don't think I can come over for dinner today. I'm sorry."

"Anne, you have to come over!" Gilbert thought he already knew what might be the problem from Anne's rather watery response, but he played along nonchalantly. She would have to trust him with this and he was going to flatter her within an inch of her life when she did. So he pressed. "What am I goin' to tell Mother? You can't come over because you feel humiliated? That's not an excuse. Have you met my Mom? Tell me what's wrong Anne, please, tell me now!"

Anne felt how unmovable he was. She was going to have to tell him. "Marilla and Mrs. Lynde said that too, they said I should tell you, but I have no idea __how__ to tell you."

Gilbert put his hands on Anne's shoulders and he spoke compassionately as she trembled. "Anne, you know I'm going to agree with the wise ladies of Green Gables. You can tell me anything."

"In theory, that's true, but I don't think we've ever really put it into practice. What's happening is not ever discussed in public."

"We're speaking in private right now, though," Gilbert pointed out. "It will be fine." He rubbed her shoulder to encourage her.

Anne wasn't so sure, and she chatted away as if she were a child again: "I do take comfort in the fact we're kindred spirits, and you love me, and the fact you want to be a doctor. But it's hard to override years and years of not speaking about such things, especially, with a man."

"Is it a female complaint?" Gilbert was a little bit too interested in Anne's agitation. His effort to not tease was only half-hearted. "Are you not feeling well?"

"Gilbert, I feel fine. No, the problem I'm having right now is," Anne's voice caught in her throat, her discomfort apparent. "Someone has taken my rags, and I can't come over to your place and be with your folks until I get sorted out."

Anne watched Gilbert's face process the statement. __Oh! I see!__ _w_ as his exact expression. Until his impish grin appeared, spreading like a disease across his chin. How dare he express marvel! Her face was still hot with shame so again she turned away from him.

Slowly, she felt him touch her arm, pulling her into his circle. His touch made her quiver because she was not expecting such tenderness. Turning her and stooping, so their eyes were level, he engaged her attention.

"Anne, if you think it's escaped my notice that you're a woman, you're completely wrong. I am very aware that your loveliness comes with a certain inconvenience for you." He lifted her hand and bending low, like a knight, he kissed it. "Thank you for bearing Eve's curse. You are all the more beautiful for it."

Gilbert thought maybe he was a little over the top, as Anne gawked back at him in stunned disbelief. Yet, it had worked. Anne felt flooded with so much love from Gilbert that many years later she always felt sorry for their own daughters' decisions to not to tell him when they had passed girlhood.

Gilbert, having played his part as the hero to perfection, presented Anne with Helen's gift to her. "I have an idea that this will solve your problems. My cousin Helen is quite the Blythe. She has tremendous foresight. Some would say it's supernatural."

Anne unwrapped the gift, which was really a lump of fabric, squared off and knotted, to find out that Gilbert's hunch was correct.

* / * / *

* * *

"I don't understand who took them?" Gilbert said as Anne changed. They were talking through the closed door of Anne's room. Gilbert paced the hallways some, looking at the heirloom paintings and photographs on display. He smiled when he saw a needlework sampler of a bouquet of flowers that was monogrammed A.S. He didn't know she could embroider and crewel.

"I don't want to say," Anne said. "But it should be pretty obvious."

Gilbert next found himself looking at another needlework sampler. This time the initials D.K. were added to the corner. He had forgotten about Dora.

"Dora's too young according to my medical books."

"She's twelve isn't she," Anne said. "But she'd probably be very mortified if she knew you knew this about her, so…"

"Oh, Anne, you know I won't say a thing."

"Yes, I do, but as a former girl myself, not quite sure what was happening to me, I feel as if I ought to put up an effort."

"But she's too young. There are a couple of paragraphs devoted to this topic and the experts say…"

"Oh, pooh, your books. You don't know what you're talking about," Anne exited her room and stood before the door. She had combed out her thick auburn hair and put it into a quick French braid, letting the end show plainly down the middle of her back. She had on a dark brown poplin skirt, leather waist, and her good white blouse. "How do I look?"

"Beautiful," Gilbert swallowed, not able to look away from her. "You always look beautiful." His voice resonated with husky overtones and made the fine hairs on her arm stand up.

"Thank you for saying so," Anne suddenly felt really shy; faltering under the intensity of his gaze. It took her a moment to step around him for the stairs.

* / * / *

* * *

"Oh yes, Bertie! I _see_ what you _see_ in her. She is the one you told me about, yes?"

Anne Shirley dropped her jaw a bit as she was seated next to a woman who bore the prominent Blythe chin. She was dressed in mourning black and had short nut brown hair that curled. Gilbert introduced Anne to his first cousin, Helen, and they immediately said their "How do you dos." Leaning into Helen's space, Anne whispered, "Thank you for the things," and her new friend grinned back winking her vivid blue eye.

The Blythe homestead was a small, plain house and not used to having eight adults in it at one time. Anne knew this about Gilbert's home already, that it was cramped and cluttered. But she always loved visiting, even when they were first friends, because his parents were _mellow_ , as Mrs. Lynde would say. It was a happy contrast to the primness of Green Gables that was so difficult to maintain.

Gilbert went and fetched his desk from his bedroom and set it to the end of the kitchen table to make a seating extension. His mother dropped a tablecloth on it and everyone was willing to pretend the tables were always meant to go together that way. It was perfectly fine that half of the seating was in the dining area and the other half in the kitchen.

Anne chatted with Helen a little bit to make conversation, or rather, Helen talked, answering the questions Anne hadn't spoken.

"You see dear Anne, yes, I know your question: It's not hard, you speak with your eyes. You see, Bertie stayed with us one summer to recuperate from healing Uncle John from that awful cough. And, he taught my sisters and me how to swallow air and make the noisiest of all belches. Us girls started to call him 'Burpee' and I guess somewhere along the line it mutated into Bertie, which is more polite and proper anyway. 'Gil' makes me think he's a fish."

"Well, I'm going to keep calling him Gil." Anne said, laughing, "But I rather appreciate the detail. It could be useful later if he vexes me." Privately Anne continued her laugh, thinking about how she was already too accustomed to the idea that Gilbert Blythe once had magical powers. Here she was stressing over the 'Bertie' nickname he was patiently enduring.

By this time Marilla had managed to squeeze into her place near the foot of the table, between Gilbert's mother, Geraldine and Geraldine's own brother, George Fletcher. Geraldine had steamed lobsters for the special occasion, and there were plenty of new potatoes cooked, it was Gilbert's favorite recipe. The Blythes weren't stingy with butter either. There was plenty of good food to enjoy. They were welcoming Anne into their household as their future daughter-in-law.

"John, will you say the blessing," Geraldine said. Marilla and Anne naturally bowed their heads and folded their hands before them. Gilbert got Anne's attention. In the Blythe house, they all held hands for the blessing. Marilla reluctantly held George Fletcher's hand. It was quite entertaining for Anne to watch.

John filled the plates and passed them down. Anne glimpsed at Marilla as she stared at her water goblet. Anne knew she was wondering how clean the glass was. Mrs. Blythe was renown for her housekeeping, but it wasn't in a good way. Marilla had already told Anne several times that she would have her work cut out keeping house for Gilbert. Gilbert had the untidy habits of his parents.

"So Anne," John Blythe started to say as he ripped open a lobster claw. "Gilbert tells me he's told you about our magic."

"Yes, Gil did say something about being a Blythe."

"Oh, I like how you put it," Helen said as she brushed cat hair off her black bodice. "That sounds so much better than saying you're cursed."

"Eh, stop it with the 'cursed' business. The 'curse' saved my life," Mr. Blythe scolded. Returning to Anne, "How did my son tell you exactly? Cuz Gil won't tell me."

Gilbert just sat there waiting to see how Anne would handle his father. He drank his water and also ate at his lobster. Anne was trying to not feel surreal.

"Well, if Gil won't say, then I'm not sure I should." Anne answered, "But it was done very thoughtfully."

She could see Gil's approval from the corner of her eye.

"Go ahead Anne, tell them." He said.

"Well, Gil here asked me to imagine our children and how'd I feel if they could do magic," Anne answered, trying to leave out some of the details. "Then he explained that it could really happen. Truthfully, I have no idea how I would raise our child if he were a Blythe, but I know I would love him just the same."

"Ah, you see!" Geraldine said. "That doesn't sound too hard."

"Hmmm," John said waving his lobster fork. "I think it's the hardest thing about being what we are, having to explain it to an outsider."

"John, I'm just saying it can be done," Geraldine said. "Gilbert, Anne, I am so happy that the two of you decided to marry. We are both glad, aren't we?"

"That's true!" John said. "We are really happy. The way this summer started sort of woke us up on what's important. Never-mind what the others wanted."

Anne looked at Gilbert confused. He whispered to her. "We'll talk."

"Anne's not an outsider though, not really," Helen said. "She will play a part in bringing Bertie's powers back."

Anne started to cough very, very hard: For a moment Gilbert thought she was actually choking. He rubbed her back and eventually Anne recovered.

"Do I dare ask what that means?" Anne ejected.

"I was actually hoping you could tell me, but Bertie's powers are coming back. I've seen it. The curse lives on."

"You've been saying that a bit too long now," Gilbert answered and his jaw jutted. Gilbert hardly lets anything bother him, but that was his tell when something did. "Now it just sounds like dramatic nonsense. I haven't held my breath for it. It would be a tremendous responsibility, to have such an active power."

"It's a blessing: Our parents did a lot of good with it, too: It gave Uncle David his start in medicine." Mrs. Fletcher said.

"At least you would get to decide when to use your powers, with some exceptions," Helen said. "I'm thrown high and low with visions that come without any sort of provocation. I do get nice insights that have helped me, but the warnings, oh, I tell you, it is terrible to know something dreadful is coming and not be able to do a thing about it."

"I just remember that it wasn't consistent," Gilbert said. "Like healing Dad, it was so hard because he was family. The block before me was terrible."

Marilla who was keeping a close watch on a house cat wandering the parlor attempted to change the subject. "Geraldine, these potatoes you made are rather nice. Did you grow them here?"

"No, my brother gave me a bushel from his crop."

"I've got more Miss Cuthbert if you'd like." Mr. Fletcher said. "Can't sell them at the markets as demand is so low right now."

"That's very generous of you," Marilla answered. "But Green Gables has our own crop right now, we are having the same troubles you are with the markets."

Anne buttered her roll and tried to pay attention to the conversation, yet was not able to draw her eyes away from Helen. She had grown very quiet. Her bright blue eyes were fixed on some unknown point before her. Gilbert noticed as well.

"Oh, she's doing it again," Mrs. Fletcher said. "Lordy, she looks like mother used to when she'd get her visions."

"What's wrong?" Anne asked. "Helen, are you feeling ill?" She touched Helen's shoulder. Helen shivered in response. Her bright blue eyes robotically narrowed in on Anne. She felt Helen reading her mind, looking for an answer that Anne could not yield.

"No, I'm not alright," Helen said. "I need to lie down."

Gilbert escorted Helen to the spare bedroom.

In the privacy of the room, Helen clung to his arm and said to him in a shaky whisper, "Gilbert, you must save the baby. You won't know what to do when it happens, but you must save the baby."

"What baby?" Gilbert asked.

Helen did not explain.

* / * / *

* * *

It was teatime when Helen felt well enough to rejoin her family. Marilla had excused herself with the comment that Davy and Dora needed assistance with their Catechism lesson. It was a thinly veiled excuse, but no one seemed to be too offended.

Gilbert and the other men were in the middle of making ice cream, taking turns with the wooden churn. Anne and Helen decided to go for a walk. Helen said she needed fresh air. Anne agreed that the house was overrun with the smells of cooked shellfish. The Blythes lived near a beach and Anne always enjoyed its view.

It had been a long time since she had been out that way, but she remembered the path she and Gilbert used to walk. The first time Gilbert took her there he tried to hold her hand and she did not respond positively to his advance. Today she could understand why Gilbert had been moved to make the attempt. It was a very picturesque place, for the sunshine filtered through the mist, dispersing the light evenly. The red dirt landscape accented the white sandy shore, and the gulls practice gliding, banking their descent from the bluffs surrounding.

Helen seemed captivated as she stared out into the ocean. "I'm jealous of you, Anne," she said with a forced smile. "I am ever so jealous of any woman with a proper education. You don't have to rely on a man to support you if you don't want. My parents wouldn't let me go to school; I taught myself to read by sheer determination, but I could sew well. I made my life on that. With my parents help, I had a good business in New Brunswick, until Lynn went away."

"And who was Lynn?" Anne asked, glad to listen to what-ever Helen had to say.

"Lynn is my everything," Helen said. "But we couldn't marry, so that is that. I wonder if I had a better education if things would have been different. That is my point, not to grieve but to express admiration for your accomplishments. Bertie said you graduated with honors."

"He did too, but thank you for your sentiments. You seem smart enough if you wanted to go to university you could. I could tutor you if you like. I am a principal now. I know how to get you into college."

Helen laughed. "Yes, I suppose, but I doubt I would graduate. I'm fairly certain that I shall die in a year or two."

Anne looked horrified. "You can't possibly know that for certain, even with your gifts."

"I suppose there's a chance I'm wrong about this path I'm on, but, I don't think so. It hasn't been wrong so far."

"Do you wish to talk about it?"

"I just want you to know my story before you hear it from other people," Helen said. "There are things Bertie hasn't told you yet. Like did you know my parents and some others have wanted us to marry! They want some sort of super witch child! Trust me, your happy news is a welcomed relief. The idea is so ridiculous to us I'm not surprised you weren't told. But it was the scandal that really freed me from my parent's intentions.

"I foresaw my wild and exhilarating romance and I also foresaw the price I would pay for it. I could have avoided the uproar, but I couldn't deny myself such blissful happiness. Everyone needs to fall madly in love once in their life, don't you agree? I see you do. For seven months we were together. Then Lynn and I were discovered in bed together. Lynn's parents forced her to move to New Jersey to escape the shame. Oh, I see you are shocked. Don't be shocked, we were truly in love. The scandal while mostly private certainly was terrible. I would have been completely cast off if it weren't for this blessed curse! There are some Blythes that think I matter only for that reason, so here I am, relocating. Away from my friends and everything I know.

"My powers cling to her still. She recently had a baby, I felt her pains and joy, and I know she loves me still. She named her daughter after me, but if I could cleanly sever this connection to her I would. The greatest love there is is the ability to let go. I'm afraid though only in death will that happen. When I look out on the sea, I feel like there lies the answer."

If Anne had ever entertained the passing thought she was getting used to strange confessions from the Blythe family, she thought the better of it at that moment.

"What did you mean when you said that I would help Gil get his powers back?"

"He clings to you just like I cling to Lynn," Helen said. "When he described you to me at first I thought you could be like us, but I don't think you are. Yet, you're not quite as pedestrian as say, Uncle George. You are a paradox. You're not magic yet you attract it. You have no idea how lovely you are in his eyes. I can see why. You make everything around you work for the good. And you probably don't realize it, which makes you very sincere."

* / * / *

* * *

Later that afternoon Anne and Gilbert found some time to sit together under an apple tree in the orchard. Gilbert had brought some of the ice cream he helped churn. Anne rubbed his achy arm as a means of thanks.

"I wish you would have told me about Helen before," Anne said. "She said her parents want you to marry her."

Gilbert spooned ice cream into his mouth. "That's true. And there's a lot of things I would do for Helen. I would help her just about any way I could, but I could never, ever marry her." He brushed Anne's face, tucking back a stray hair. "I'm not her cup of tea, anyway."

"Yes, she told me about that too," Anne said, "I've heard of such things at Redmond. I know that there were some that thought that about me, going off to get an education fit for a man. I won't lie, I thought the rumor was from Charlie Sloane after I refused him. But I love the company of men, especially one man with hazel eyes."

Anne also took another spoonful of ice cream, savoring its coolness drizzling down her throat.

Gilbert thought his heart was melting.

"You've had a hard day, haven't you, Anne-girl?" He pulled her close to him. She lounged back on his person, her back supported by his embrace. Anne sighed peacefully and she nodded off a bit.

Gilbert set aside his dish, but when he did so he felt something sticking to his hand. Thinking that it was a wayward drop of ice cream, he tried to brush it off. Then he saw what it was. Anne's shadow was adhering to his fingers. Helen was right, his magic was coming back.

 **to be continued**


	4. Charlottetown

Timeline - Still between _Anne of the Island_ and _Anne of Windy Poplars._

* * *

 **Chapter 4: Charlottetown**

Talk of bad weather filtered into Anne and Gilbert's ears the next few days. Several rigging ships were behind schedule due to inclement conditions on the North Atlantic Sea. The steamers that arrived on time reported hurricanes over the waters. Indeed, the smell of sea salt lingered unpleasantly in the humid air and there was a fearfulness that at any moment a relentless deluge would drop over the quaint towns and cities of Prince Edward Island. It was the last day in August and they couldn't delay their trip to Charlottetown any longer. They would have to take a chance that the good weather would hold.

Gilbert's father drove them to the Bright River train station before the sunrise. Together they sat on the bench and watched the red sun wake and transcend the horizon. The fowl that lived in the trees were not singing. That seemed ominous to Anne. Then their train did not come. Gilbert got his money back from the station master and they were contemplating a long walk home when a freight train arrived. Gilbert talked with the engineer and found out they were headed to Charlottetown as their last stop. He managed to get permission for them to hop into a boxcar, seeing as the passenger train was so delayed.

The boxcar was empty. Anne requested that the large freight door be open so they could enjoy the view. Gilbert and Anne sat next to each other with their rears in the car and their legs dangling over its ledge. It was an experience like no other. The lush greenery whizzed by and the driving wind whipped Anne's hat off where it blew in counter-clockwise circles until it rested in a corner. The gusts also pushed Anne's skirts up so that Gilbert got more than a glimpse of black stocking.

They were alone and neither of them felt much like talking. The view was breathtaking; the car's swaying movements were hypnotic, and the company perfect. Gilbert rested his hand over hers and a smile formed on Anne's face. Taking her eyes off the fast-moving landscape, she beckoned him closer by resting her gaze on his lips.

He did not disappoint her. He pushed the fine strands of red hair off her face, feeling the sloping angles of her cheekbones that made her so fair. A moment of hesitation was followed by a wanting kiss which Anne passionately returned. The air charged with electricity. Each kiss was bolder than the kiss before. Anne scooted away from the ledge to make it less precarious for them both; their attentions were now turned to each other. They hit a bump and fell back, hurting their heads on the floor, but not so hard they couldn't laugh.

Gilbert realized that he was sort of on top of Anne and was very reluctant to change his position. He let his weight fall to Anne's side; his hand remained on her upper arm. He felt heat as he looked at Anne, she was waiting for him to make a move. Anne touched his determined jaw and did that trick again with her eyes. His heart told him how he should respond, but his mind said, "No". It was too dangerous. To kiss Anne like this, in her current spirit of willingness, would unwind him. He forced himself to say, "Not like this."

His gut twisted into a knot as Anne's face fell. He thought he was the dumbest man alive as Anne propped herself up and returned her gaze back to the countryside. What she saw sobered her. On the horizon were big pillars of black smoke billowing up from the woods. A forest fire! In their moment of romance, they did not notice how the sky had turned dark and lightning loomed over the countryside with its intermittent flashes. The sound of thunder stomped in their ears. There was no rain yet, but it was coming.

Once in Charlottetown Gilbert reported the fire to the railroad's telegraph office. The telegraph operator knew. Already the journalists were running towards it. It was a big news story as lightning had hit the barn that stored kegs of gunpowder and military ammunition for Charlottetown. The volunteer fire department was there, as well as the staff of the local hospital and other qualified citizens exercising their civic duties.

Gilbert fought his instinct that he could help too; he hadn't told Anne about the other day when they ate ice cream under the apple trees. He didn't tell her how her shadow was sticking to his fingers. His magic was coming back. Anne was changing him somehow, her love improved him. The more he grew close to her, the more he felt it.

Gilbert led Anne into the throng of the crowd as she chatted away.

"What's next then?" Anne asked as they went through their agenda. He was given the choice of trying to find out if his medical equipment had arrived from Baltimore or taking Anne to the jewelry store.

"Let's go get that ring," Gilbert replied, making Anne's unadorned hand his first priority.

* * *

Anne and Gilbert entered the jewelry store just as the rain started to peck on the windows. Immediately, an impeccably dressed man approached them, welcoming them. The clerk was quick to show Anne their best items. To her left was a tray of pierced earrings: And to her right were the diamond engagement rings and gemstone solitaires.

"Anne, I hope you don't mind," Gilbert said. "But I already picked out a ring for you, but if you don't like it, you can pick out anything else you want."

"Gil, I hope you didn't spend too much money on me," Anne stated. "Remember, I have the biggest imagination in the world, the most austere of rings would do because it's _you_ giving it to me."

The clerk handed him a red velvet box which was tagged 'Blythe'. Gilbert opened it and presented it to Anne. He could tell in an instant that Anne loved the ring as much as he did. It took her breath away and Anne was uncharacteristically at a loss for words. She was quite aware that the clerk was watching, but she reached up and hugged Gilbert whispering, "Gilbert, I love it. I love you." She was positively trembling in his arms and Gilbert watched her shed happy tears.

Her reaction affected Gilbert more than he wanted. He had always worn his heart on his sleeve with regards to Anne. "You said no gemstones and you bring me joy, Anne. So I thought, pearls. Aphrodite cried these for us, don't you think?"

"Gilbert, are we really doing this?" Anne asked. "I brushed it off when you said it was the first step towards 'us', but now it has become quite real, hasn't it?"

"And you said a ring wasn't necessary."

"Sometimes I can be wrong, although, it doesn't happen a lot."

"Sorry to interrupt, but I can have the ring sized for the lady if you allow me?" The clerk offered. He seemed rather unmoved by the couple's endearments. Anne bemused that his ultra-stiff collar was preventing him from smiling.

When the ring returned, Gilbert picked up her left hand and asked, "May I?"

"Of course, Mr. Blythe," Anne said. Anne did not trust herself to stare into his hazel eyes as she felt a coldness slide down her ring finger. She instead looked at his ear and focused on not letting herself swoon.

Anne and Gilbert spent a few more minutes in the store. Gilbert paid half down and promised to pay it off next season. Anne did not know how he would manage it. She could help him with expenses, but in this case, she knew it was very important to him that she wear a ring that he provided. Anne wouldn't interfere with his commitment. It was his promise to her that he would provide for their family.

* * *

Anne and Gilbert were protected by the jewelry store's awning as the rain intensified. They were chatting about their next to-do item when all of a sudden Josie Pye came running out of Dr. Spencer's office calling their names.

"Anne! Gilbert! Help me! Please help!"

Panicked is not thorough enough of an adjective to describe Josie at this moment. She was truly frightened! She struggled to reach them as the rain-soaked wind whipped her skirts so that she almost fell. Her hat flew off but she continued to shout at them, over the rising storm, desperate for help.

Gilbert offered his hand, pulling her to the sidewalk.

"It's Gertie!" She begged. "She's over at Doc's and he's not there. No one is! She's having a baby Anne! Ooh… Didn't you once tell me you delivered a baby? I don't know what to do. I saw you and Gilbert through the office window and that memory came rushing back."

Anne's eyes went wide in surprise! Gertie Pye was unmarried and pregnant! This must have been the gossip Mrs. Lynde alluded to not long ago. Gilbert was already running, crossing the street to Dr. Spencer's office.

"Yes, I helped, not once but twice. Mrs. Hammond couldn't stop having babies. And I will help Gertie too! But Josie, you have to stay calm!" Anne coached.

"Oh, thank you, Anne!" Josie said. "I'm ever so grateful."

"Don't worry! Gilbert spent most of his recovery period at home reading newly purchased medical books and I would venture a guess that obstetrics was the first subject he stole a glance at. Of course, I'm only judging that by recent statements made to me."

Anne was holding Josie's hand, pulling her back across the street following Gilbert. The wind was making it hard, it kept grabbing their skirts.

"And you know how much livestock the Blythe's have, right? Who do you think delivers those calves, lambs, and piglets? We can do this, and with your prayers, it will be enough."

"Oh, Anne!" Josie said. "Thank you! But please, don't tell anyone about this. We've gone to great lengths to keep the facts hidden."

"Don't worry about that now," Anne said as they hurried into the medical office.

* * *

"Where's the doctor?" Gertie asked as Anne and Josie came in from the rain. Gertie was sitting in a chair and Gilbert was hovering around her, asking questions about her contractions.

"I'm afraid there was a big fire up north of town," Anne said. "I am sure that the doctor is there helping, but maybe with the rain, he'll be back soon."

Gertie looked at Gilbert who was trying to calm her. "Gilbert, you've got to run for him. You'll be the fastest."

"Gertie," Anne said level-headed. "He's not going to get far in this rain. It's probably better if we figure this out together. Gilbert has the most experience in this type of situation."

"You've done this before?" Gertie asked with a puzzled face. Her blonde hair was coming undone from its bun.

"I've delivered more calves and foals than I can count," Gilbert replied. "Gertie, I can do this. I know what needs to be done."

Gertie's face blanched out a little bit and looked at her sister. "Josie, I don't know about this. I'll never be able to look those two in the eyes again."

"Sure you will," Josie answered very encouragingly. "Once you're holding your baby in your arms, it won't matter in the least the trouble it was to get her—or him."

Anne took Gilbert's arm and pulled him away from the Pye sisters. She paused for a moment trying to find the right words.

"Gil, I _know_ you can do this," Anne said. "I have complete faith in you, but remember, you'll be helping someone we grew up with. I have a feeling that Gertie may have reservations about allowing you to help. The Pye's are a sensitive lot. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

"Anne, I can't do this with my eyes closed," Gilbert said, matter-of-factually.

"You need to make it less personal," Anne cast her eyes around the office. "Put on the white robe and the hat and wait for a moment. I'll talk with them."

* * *

Gertie experienced another labor pain. Anne looked at the wall clock. They were about two minutes apart. She recollected how the midwife would have Mrs. Hammond on her hands and knees through the contractions.

"Gertie, you'll be more comfortable on your hands and knees," Anne suggested, repeating the very phrase Mrs. Robbins would tell her former guardian. "Josie, will you help me walk Gertie to a patient room? We need to get her ready."

They escorted Gertie to a promising room. Josie calmly helped her older sister remove her clothes. She helped with the shoes and stockings, the skirt and blouse. Josie carefully folded the clothing, as Anne helped Gertie put on a clean gown. And then Josie helped her sister remove her undergarments. Anne checked the patient room's clock. She felt it was time for another contraction.

"Gertie, let's get you ready for your next contraction," Anne suggested.

Sure enough, Gertie endured another wave of pain. When the contraction was over, Gertie said, "Oh God, I think I'm going to have the baby," She whimpered up something happy and sad all at once. "I'm so afeared. Josie, Anne, don't leave me."

"We won't Gertie," Anne said, "You must let Gilbert help you now, can you do that?"

Gertie reluctantly nodded.

* * *

Gilbert entered the room and first sat next to Gertie. He had covered his appearance with a robe, hat and face mask. It was really only the hazel eyes that might give him away.

"Gertie, you know, this is the first time I've been able to talk with the mother during a birthing," Gilbert said. "You must do me the honor of telling me what you're going through. Don't pretend what you're experiencing doesn't matter. Trust your instincts and let me know _anything_ that concerns you," He looked at Gertie on her side. "Are you comfortable enough this way, on your side?"

"Yes, I think so," Gertie answered. "All things considered."

He nodded. Josie was nearest. He looked to her and asked, "Josie, would you be able to support Gertie's leg, please? So the baby can come out freely."

"Yes, I can do that," Josie answered. Gilbert calmly grabbed her by her wrist and brought Josie next to Gertie. He gently said. "Lean down a bit Josie, and I'll move your sister's leg into your arms. You can use your shoulder to help bear the weight."

Gilbert's eyes found Anne's. He was so glad she was there with him, he didn't have time to truly express his gratitude for her presence. He said it in his tone: "Anne, would you be able to stay on Gertie's other side, and help brace her through the contractions."

"Of course," Anne answered.

A contraction came and Gertie cried. "Ladies, don't ever let a man touch you!"

Gilbert tried to ignore the comment as he checked the dilation. He felt Anne looking at him, his cheeks grew hot. He fully intended to put Anne through this someday. He felt a premonition of their future selves. He helping Anne with the delivery of their own child. Gilbert offered a prayer to that imagining, he prayed it would go alright, for he couldn't stay in that thought. At this moment, he was helping Gertie and only Gertie.

"Gertie, if you feel like pushing, I'm ready. Anne, will you light the lamps in the room, please? I need to see clearly, and the storm is not helping."

Anne rubbed Gertie's arm, "I'll be back in a second. You're doing great."

Anne came back with the matches and oil for the lamps. She brought some things that were overlooked at first, including clean towels, forceps, and clamps. Anne noticed Gertie seemed pretty pale as she walked the room. She mentioned this to Gilbert as she handed him a towel.

Gilbert thought a moment. "The baby's not coming as easily as I think it should. I think it's the cord. Anne, I need you to tell Gertie to stop pushing. Tell her to pant. I want to try and adjust things."

"Gertie," Anne returned next to her, "Gilbert needs to move the baby a tiny bit, so instead of pushing, pant. Like this..." Anne imitated once again Mrs. Hammond's midwife's instructions.

Gertie looked to Gilbert and he nodded, "Yes, pant please, stop pushing, just pant and I'll be done as quick as possible. You may feel some pressure."

Gertie imitated Anne's lead.

"Excellent, excellent," Gilbert said. "Now you'll get somewhere."

"Oh, I feel sick," Gertie replied as the pressure released. "I..." Gertie's thought was truncated by another pain. She clenched her teeth with all her might as she pushed down.

"I can see the baby's head, you're almost done! One more contraction and we'll have the baby."

Anne watched Gilbert pull the baby gently out of the birth canal, making sure that the cord was not twisted around the baby's neck. It wasn't, but there was something wrong with the child. It was the wrong color and not moving. Mrs. Hammond's children were so red just born and wailed away like banshees. Anne turned and looked to Gertie who was anxious to hear her baby cry. The stress from Gilbert was palpable. Anne stood so Gertie could not see.

Gilbert held the baby by the heels and tried slapping its buttocks.

 _Clap._

And even harder.

 _Smack._

 _What is it?_ Anne asked Gilbert with a glance. Gilbert's expression showed so much sorrow for the creature as if it never stood a chance.

"Gertie," Anne started to say, looking for Josie to help her finish her thoughts _._ Josie could also see how the baby looked dead.

"Anne," Gilbert called, "I _need_ you."

He said it soft and quiet, but his call cut through the chaos of the room and sent chills down Anne's spine like a direct shot of cold air. Anne raced to Gilbert's side. Josie continued to hold her older sister's hand.

Gilbert held a baby boy, all red and covered in blood and yuck. He was rubbing him down with the towel, hoping the action would help the baby breathe. His hazel eyes momentarily flickered up to Anne's gray ones. Blinking down, he whispered,

"Steady my hands."

Immediately Anne put her hands over his slimy ones; her skin on his, his skin on the not-yet-breathing baby. Gilbert's hands were shaking; trembling with energies she knew not from where. At her touch, he felt everything coalesce and channel into the infant in one enormous rush.

The baby cried loud and piercingly. Anne let go of Gilbert's hands stunned. _That didn't just happen, did it?_ Anne and Gilbert traded wild stares of understanding. Anne swallowed and nodded. _So, he really was a healer._

"It's a boy," Gilbert said wrapping a clean towel around the flailing child. Gilbert's eyes looked up at Anne's with happiness. Anne pursued her lips together and hid her awe as the door opened.

* * *

"All right, all right. I'm here," Dr. Spencer said entering the room. "But it looks like you've gone ahead without me." He paused looking at Gilbert and Anne. "And who are you two?"

"Gilbert Blythe, I'm starting medical school next week. This is Anne Shirley."

"Gilbert Blythe? How are you alive?" Dr. Spencer said as he put on clean linens. "I heard about you from Dr. Blair over in Carmody, he wrote 'miracle' on your file. And," He stared at Anne. Dr. Spencer's memory of a red-headed, pig-tailed girl holding an empty ipecac bottle surfaced. "Oh, I remember you, you're the Cuthbert girl—that treated croup."

Dr. Spencer then went to his patient to check on her status, pushing all else out of his way. After checking Gertie's pulse, he turned to Gilbert, asking: "Where are we at..?"

Gilbert handed the child to the professional and reported, "The baby's here but the placenta is not yet.."

"That will come quick enough," he said, examining the infant. "Well! Look at this strapping boy you've brought to the world, Gertie! He looks just about perfect, but I'd expect that given his father."

Doctor Spencer handed the boy to his Aunt Josie, who in turn brought mother and son together for the first time. Gertie stroked his little head which had fine tufts of brown hair on it. She smiled so heavenly as to bring the sunshine into the room. The baby cried at her touch. "Hi Robbie," Gertie said. "Oh, don't cry, I just want to see you. I'll never be able to see you for the first time again." The baby continued its noise.

Anne and Gilbert found each other as they backed away, allowing the doctor to finish what they had begun. Anne was so proud of Gilbert she thought she would bust. She said as much with a touch on his arm and slow forming smile when he looked down at her. Gilbert was too humble to say much. Anne knew him well enough to know he was flattered all the same.

"Anne, you know what happened in there?" Gilbert asked, once outside of the room. "I haven't done anything like that since..."

"Yes, I know," Anne answered. "It's a very good thing you could, I was really afraid."

In the hall, Gilbert removed his borrowed, white garments for the laundry hamper. They then made their way around to the front lobby, where they discovered Diana and Fred Wright.

* * *

"Diana! Fred!" Anne exclaimed as she dropped Gilbert's hand from the sheer surprise.

Diana's mouth opened wide as she stood and looked at her best friend. Every inch of color Diana had washed away as shock ran its course. If not for her jet black hair, she would blend into the white-washed wall.

"Oh, goodness Anne!" She, at last, said, greeting Anne with a kiss. "You could knock me down with a feather, I'm so surprised to see you here. What on earth?"

Anne felt her face relax into a proud smile as she accepted Diana and Fred's most unexpected presence. She couldn't wait to exclaim the hero of the room. "Diana, I don't know if you'd believe it," Anne said, looking back to her beloved Gilbert. He was shaking hands with Fred. They were just as surprised to see each other as Anne was to see Diana. "Gertie Pye had a baby and Gilbert helped deliver it. Isn't that marvelous? There was no staff here, and by happy coincidence, Josie saw us across the street and fetched us to help."

"What?" Diana said. "Oh, this can't be! Of course, I… knew about Gertie's situation..."

"Diana," Fred warned.

"Oh Fred," Diana answered. "Don't vex me. I think the cat is out of the bag if Gilbert delivered the child."

Fred rolled his eyes and acquiesced, "Very well. But this has to stay in this room."

Diana continued, "Beechwood has been Gertie's home for a while now, ever since she learned she was expecting Robert's baby. You remember Robert, Fred's oldest brother? I am so sorry I had to keep it secret from you. The Pyes wanted everything to stay as quiet as possible."

"So, do I have a nephew or a niece, doctor?" Fred asked Gilbert.

"A nephew," Gilbert answered. "He's a fine little man too. Ten fingers, ten toes and.. well, I did say he's a boy. Gertie did really well I think. And Anne did a lot to help. I'm not sure I could have done it by myself."

"Gilbert, I am sure you're just being modest," Diana stated, "You're going to be the island's favorite doctor in no time."

"He is being modest!" Josie said. "I'm not sure how he managed everything he did, even with Anne's help."

"Josie helped quite a lot too," Gilbert admitted, as Josie entered the room. "I did not mean to forget her. She was very instrumental in keeping Gertie calm."

Dr. Spencer was also there now, joining the party. The doctor pulled Gilbert aside and was asking him some questions Anne couldn't get her ear on. Meanwhile, Diana greeted Josie with a gentle brush to her arm and Anne moved to a chair. Dr. Spencer quickly adjourned his impromptu meeting with Gilbert and then Gilbert moved closer to Anne, resting his hand on her shoulder. Eventually, he joined Anne in the chairs.

"Doctor, can I see my nephew," Fred asked.

"Yes, I suppose so," Dr. Spencer replied. "Gertie and baby need to stay overnight, but both are healthy and well. I'll take you to them." Fred exited the room a little bit excited. He was very good with children and loved babies. Diana sighed as she watched him leave, causing the others to place their attention on her.

Diana waved off her audience with a hand toss. "It's just such a relief not to worry about this anymore," Diana said. "Everything turned out so wonderful. And little Fred will have a cousin to play with now, talk about making the most out of a bad situation."

"He's just a wee thing," Anne said. "He's got a bit of growing to do, but yes. It will be nice for him to have someone his own age to play with and talk to. Will he stay with you for a while then?"

"I don't know," Diana mused. "Gertie was beside herself for help when she came to us. Fred and I really felt that we _should_ help, and we were in a position to do that. But, who knows what will happen next? Fred's brother doesn't even know he's a father. He left exactly nine months ago. He's traveling across Europe on a business venture, we don't know how to send word. He's supposed to be back at Christmas. He's going to be so surprised to find out he has a son when he gets home."

"He shouldn't be that surprised!" Josie bluntly inputted as she walked to the window. "It does take two! I just hope he marries her."

"I'm sure he will," Gilbert said. "Robert has always been fond of Gertie, even when we went to school. Once they are married, I am sure that they'll find their own place."

Josie, who had heard these musings before between Diana and Fred was pacing the diagonal of the room, not truly listening: She was caught up in the moment that the baby was born. Anne watched her from the corner of her eye, worried about the reason for her shuffling. Finally, Josie turned and looked right at Gilbert, boldly asking, "You know, Gilbert, I could have sworn that something was wrong with the baby," Josie said. "And I got the queerest impression you did something strange. Well, it was both of you, together, now that I'm speaking of it. I admit I was thinking dreadful things for a few moments. What happened?

"What's this?" Diana asked. "Was something wrong with the baby?"

"Nothing to worry about, the baby took a few minutes to cry." Anne added, "He's quite the master of it now."

"He just needed to be rubbed down a little bit," Gilbert said. "That's all."

Josie shook her head in disagreement. "No, you did that when you called Anne over, and the way you sounded. It felt quite out-of-this-world. I positively got chills. And then the two of you held the baby together, and he suddenly cried. It was like you brought him to life."

As Anne and Gilbert were thinking of a way to respond, Anne caught Diana's face and she could see Diana also thinking of a way to satisfy Josie.

"Josie," Diana said. "It sounds like they were _praying_ for the baby, isn't that right?" Diana tossed her attention to Gilbert and Anne, sitting in the chairs. They showed their agreement a bit too quickly. "Only God can do the thing you suggest, and Providence provided. Now, what is our nephew's name?"

"Robert Reginald Gilbert George," Josie answered. "It's such a big name for such a little boy."

"Hmm?" Gilbert said. "She named the boy after me?"

"She thought, given his magical start in the world, she should say thank you this way."

Anne's jaw dropped slightly, her heart sunk into her stomach. Gilbert's attention was tight on her and Diana just looked confused. She volleyed her head between Josie, standing next to her and Anne and Gilbert, sitting in the lobby's chairs, looking as if they wished to turn invisible. It would never do.

"Josie, you sound absolutely crazy! Gilbert Blythe, magical healer?" Diana started laughing hard, "Oh, that's the funniest thing I ever heard." Anne and Gilbert did not join her laugh. It would have sounded so forced. Diana was trying to defuse the implications. If only it had worked.

"Thank you, Anne and Gilbert, for keeping our secret," Josie said arching her right brow. "I promise to always keep yours."

 **to be continued**


	5. Weekend

Timeline - _Anne of Windy Poplars, The First Year: Chapters 1-4_

* * *

 **Chapter 5: Weekend**

* * *

 _Letter to Anne Shirley, October, from Gilbert Blythe, medical student, Redmond College, Kingsport_

 _Dearest Anne, my Anne-girl,_

 _There are some sentiments that are shared better with a touch. And then there are some sentiments shared best in conversation. And then, there is the written word. Words that can be saved and read over and over again. That is how I read your words to me, Anne. Many times, I touch the tracings of your pen and long for you._

 _With everything that has happened this summer, I keep going back to that quiet moment in Hester Gray's garden. You changed me when you said yes. You changed me for the better. You fixed the Blythe in me, it seems to me the only reason why things have happened such as they have._

 _For fairies do not exist. No, because you have taken all their magical dust for yourself. You make everything perfect and those things that would exist, but now do not, are in awe. Truly, you can see that it's really not that amazing you found three, four-leaf clovers. No, my darling, you have favor with fortune. Accept it, it is your curse._

 _I am in a dorm room with two other medical students. Eugene Felder is from "here and there" as he puts it, and was married once, but his wife and baby died in delivery. It was the catalyst that made him want to be a doctor. He was most impressed when I told him about little Robbie's birth, with some details left out of course. My other roommate is Marcus Trimble from Marysville, Nova Scotia. He is engaged too, only he has a photograph of his girl. She looks very sturdy, but he's proud enough._

 _Anne, you must send me your photograph. It's not often I covet, but I do wish I had your picture. I can easily remember what it's like to touch your cheeks and soft hair, and the feel of your lips on mine, but I keep such recollections private. I say you're tall and slender, with brains under your crown of auburn hair. I tell them that I've been in love with you since I was thirteen. I get a lot of ribbing for that._

 _Anne, you must come and meet them at the end of this term! The medical school puts up a fancy ball at a hotel. There will be dancing with a band and supper. Awards will be presented. It's supposed to be a very grand and eloquent affair, and the alumni will be there too. I want to show you off, so everyone knows why I'm so enamored with you._

 _As far as my classes, I am ahead in subject reading thanks to the rather long recovery period I needed this summer, but I know that my small lead will quickly disappear. This school is not for the faint of heart. I am in lectures for seven hours with practicals in the late afternoon. Exams are every Friday. Saturday we go to the hospital and make rounds with the interns. My study group is two hours from nine to eleven at night. I sleep just about six hours if I am lucky. I am really afraid I will not be able to send long epistles, as much as I want to, but I do promise to write a few sentences each week, to remind you that you enchant my heart._

 _I am yours and yours forever, loving you,_

Gilbert

* * *

Anne Shirley read and reread Gilbert's letter on the way back to Bright River on a late Friday afternoon. She sat alone and unnoticed by the other train commuters. She let down her guard a little bit, as she reconnected to Gilbert, also touching the tracings of his pen. She missed him, but at the same time, she paradoxically felt him close-by. Gilbert was whispering, "Have faith in yourself!"

She needed to metabolize the tender emotion for she was battered after her first month at Summerside High School. Her welcome there was barely cordial. She felt ostracized, yet she agreed somewhat with Gilbert's summation, that she did have favor with good fortune. The three, four-leaf clovers she found in the yard of Windy Poplars, her new home, told her to weather the Pringle storm.

Did she really possess fairy dust to sprinkle over bad starts? In the case of her boarding house, she had to wonder.

She was supposed to be boarding with Mrs. Thomas Pringle, whose home was large and comfortable, and Anne was sure she would have been satisfied there; however, fate had a different plan. Her current residence seemed tailored-made for a former girl that loved pretending she was a princess. It also presented itself in the last possible moment, when her need was most dire. It perplexed her. Did she have some sort of understanding with fairies and sprites per Gilbert's allusion? Or was this a result of her own plucky attitude which had been honed from sorrow since she was a baby orphan?

Anne didn't need to know the answer to her conjecture, no matter how much it pestered her. Whatever the answer was, she benefited greatly now. She slept in the tower room of an old house, like Lady Rapunzel. Anne had already written Gilbert about her thrilling accommodation. The truth was Anne would have never looked for the place if it had not been for necessity. Never-the-mind the snub she received from Mrs. Pringle about being tired of boarding the school staff. The tower room was more than she could have hoped for, and in spite of the difficulties she was immersed in now by uncooperative Pringle students, she felt quite the champion on this regard.

Anne tucked the letters safely away in her traveling satchel as the train began to slow down for its stop. Her slim fingers locked the bag and she safely moved it to her lap. Anne sat along the aisle, and it took a little leaning to the right for her to see the platform approach. She disembarked into a dusky autumn night, which was confused on whether it wanted to be hot or cold, windy or still. She found not Davy, but Diana Wright waiting to drive her back to her home of old, Green Gables.

* * *

"Now today I am the one that gets to be surprised," Anne said, as Diana hugged her. "Are you and Fred back in Avonlea for a while then?"

"Fred's at the farm finishing the harvest. It just worked out better for me to come and get you, it wasn't planned. I needed some things Mother had in the attic at Orchard Slope; and Davy and Minnie May were busy practicing a scene from _Romeo and Juliet_ when I was there," Diana giggled at Anne's expression. "It seemed a real shame to have Davy come and get you when everyone watching was so amused with their acting. They've been assigned the death scene, but the way they're reading it, it's just so funny!"

Diana pointed Anne to her buggy off the distance. "I'm over there."

"Davy can be a bit dramatic, so I can see him hamming up some of those Elizabethan words," Anne tried on her best Davy impression, emphasizing each word in a gradual crescendo. "'Thus...with a kiss...I…. die!'"

Diana laughed again. "Minnie May is just playing dead, I know it's supposed to be a sad scene, but it's just..." Diana gave another jolly laugh which was infectious. "Well, you can imagine."

"I bet!" Anne laughed too for her imagination was quite good. "So, how is Davy handling the kiss?"

"He's kissing Minnie May's hand," Diana said. "And that's not very romantic at all, it adds to the humor, actually."

"Well, I don't know about that." Anne felt her face grow hot thinking back to some moments between her and Gilbert. "I always felt a bit swooned whenever Gilbert would kiss my hand. And that was before I knew I even liked him," Anne pushed herself past a hiccuped pause, deciding in an instant to tell Diana something she's told no one. She rested her left hand on Diana's arm to get her attention. "He almost made me faint when he kissed me goodbye. He's..." Anne's eye's flashed with excitement, "...so very good at it."

"Anne Shirley, I can't believe you just told me that!" Diana exclaimed. Her eyes bulged and her jaw went slack from the astonishment. The Anne Shirley she knew would never, ever disclosed exactly what she felt for Gilbert Blythe. It was always layers and layers of mystery. Anne just glowed next to her. She was completely in love. This was a new facade to witness.

"I can't believe I told you that either. Diana, I think he's turned my mind into mush. I don't know what's come over me in the last three months."

"You know Anne," Diana encouraged, "I no longer feel as if I'm missing anything not being able to watch Minnie May and Davy. Seeing you so in love is worth the price of this long drive."

"Not so loud Diana," Anne pleaded.

"There's no one else around," Diana said. Sure enough, the road was empty. Diana tilted back her head again and said loudly, for the bashful stars to hear, "My best friend, my bosom friend from childhood, Anne Shirley, is in love with Gilbert Blythe. I knew it all along, but then, so did about half of Avonlea."

"Oh, Diana, stop it," Anne said, burying her face in her hands.

"Yes, you know it's true!" Diana exclaimed, but she stopped her teasing as Anne shriveled up next to her. She had hit a soft spot.

Anne was becoming unreasonably upset and started to crawl behind one of her defensive masks. Diana went silent a few minutes. The horse snorted and clomped rhythmically toward home, turning before being asked. Then Anne recovered and Diana tried her best to re-enter Anne's very guarded place where she kept her feelings.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Diana implored. "I didn't mean to stir up anything hard."

"I dunno," Anne stammered, she felt tears form in her eyes. "I feel happy and sad, and stressed and joyous all at once. Is this really being in love? They're moments at the school where I'm teaching a class and I forget about Gilbert, and then I see his ring on my finger and it all comes back to me, and I feel horrid that I forgot. I dropped the chalk remembering how much I love him and how much he loves me. We're getting closer to figuring out the..." Anne stammered again. "What I mean to say is..."

"I know what you mean," Diana warmly grinned. "I'll say it for you. The closeness. The heavy-laden silences. The connections you make with a shared glance. The thousand places you've been together, and the one place you have yet to go."

"Oh stop it there," Anne interrupted. "I never expected you to be so frank. Where you're headed requires a bit of mental preparation. Mrs. Lynde has already cornered me to give me her marital advice and I'm not sure I've recovered."

"Well, I'll let you come to me then, when you're ready. I suppose since you have given me such gems on this long drive I could let you in on a secret." Diana said. "But you mustn't tell anyone for a little while. Not even Gilbert."

"What is it?" Anne quietly asked.

"I'm going to have another baby, I was at the doctor's today," Diana disclosed.

Anne said nothing in return.

"I know, I know," Diana answered Anne's silence. "I just _had_ a baby, but I'm really happy for another. Honestly, I am. Fred's really happy too. He loves babies. He even diapers baby Fred, well you saw how he was when Robbie was born."

Anne realized that their children will be eleven months apart in age. She thought of Mrs. Hammond doubling her brood with two sets of twins in one year and how it made her crazy.

"Diana, of course, I am thrilled you'd trust me with something so important, but please forgive me if I don't seem happy. I know you and Fred have advantages to make it work, but when I was in service, I saw what it did to Mrs. Hammond to have babies so close together. I want to be happy for you, truly, I do, but it will be hard."

Diana stiffened up a bit. Anne could see from her profile that she was hurt, very hurt. Anne realized that her reaction probably seemed especially calloused after the considerate way Diana had been to her own bruised pride. She filled with regrets but she also knew what she said was true as well.

Changing the subject, Diana asked. "How is it going at Summerside?"

Diana urged the spotted horse with the reins now that they could see the lamp light at Green Gables.

"It will get better," Anne replied. "That's the short story. I don't know how or when, but it will get better. I am determined. Why don't you come inside and visit for a while? Marilla and Mrs. Lynde are waiting to pounce on me for news anyway. I could use a good friend to buffer them. And I'm really sorry if I hurt your feelings, Diana. If you're happy, I can be too. I will always help you whenever I can. Remember that."

* * *

Marilla Cuthbert fortified Anne and Diana with a cup of chamomile tea and her good baking. In return, Anne reported her current troubles with the Summerside Pringles with a candidness she could not relate in her letters.

"I don't think it would bother me so much if it just stayed at the school. Miss Brooke is so sour to me, but I can understand her paradigm. She harbored aspirations for my job. But the entire city is so full of prejudice, it's even at church," Anne said. "And the Presbyterian church has a fine choir and I would love to sing for them, but alas, I was told that they would let me know when they needed more voices."

Marilla grimaced as she poured more tea into half empty cups, "Anne, it's just as well they won't let you sing with them. Your attendance will be too unpredictable for them to rely on you."

"Yes, but it's always the same songs," Diana said, declining a plum puff from Marilla's serving platter. "Haven't you ever noticed each church has its own repertoire of music, they just rotate the same twenty songs the organist likes."

"Well, I suppose you're both right," Anne agreed. "I just don't like this feeling I have of being maneuvered and managed."

"You're an outsider right now Anne," Marilla said, with a sympathetic smile. "I'm sure that things will improve."

Marilla then offered Mrs. Lynde a plum puff, which was accepted, but Anne noticed that Mrs. Lynde wasn't really eating the puff as she normally would, although she was trying. She had lost some weight since Anne had last seen her.

"What are you going to do?" Diana said, concerned.

"My job!" Anne returned. "I do understand how a school should be run. You know, I like this assignment Davy and Minnie May are doing together. A play is such a wonderful way to introduce literature to a class. The high school has an excellent stage and it's not used properly. A dramatic society will be a good way to round up all the students and faculty."

"Oh, that's a great idea!" Diana said.

"That's one way to turn things around," Mrs. Lynde agreed. "But I am worried about this Miss Brooke you wrote about and how uncooperative she is. You're both there to educate children, that's what. It makes you wonder who the child is with support like that."

"Well, I think there's a way around it, I just haven't figured it out yet. There _is_ something about her that is deeper than willful unpleasantness. She's quite intelligent and well read. She knows more about world geography than I thought possible and has a flair for the exotic. She's really someone I would like to be friends with someday."

Marilla offered more tea, to which Anne declined. She was feeling pretty tired from the day and subsequent travel.

"How is Gilbert doing?" Marilla asked. "I assume he's written."

"Oh yes!" Anne answered. "He's doing splendidly! In fact, he's asked me to come over to Kingsport for a fancy-dress ball at the end of his term. I haven't written him back yet, I thought I should talk to you."

"Oh, you have to get his cousin Miss Blythe to make your dress!" Diana said. "She's ever so gifted. She's made me the most clever thing."

Marilla sat in her favorite chair next to Anne and drank her own cup of hot tea considering the question. "Well, I believe in his profession there will be many functions where you should be there too… to help advance his career. You'll need to get used to it now." Marilla said with a tone that suggested ballroom dancing was a chore for Anne instead of a gaiety. "So, I suppose with the right chaperone, you can go."

"Marilla, really?" Anne girlishly replied. "You surprise me because you and Mrs. Lynde forbade me from visiting Gilbert at school."

"I didn't account for this context," Marilla stated, throwing a glance to Mrs. Lynde. "Like I said, with the right chaperone, you can go."

Anne and Diana then turned their stares to Mrs. Lynde, who stopped fussing with her tea under the weight of all their eyes. "Me?" She said, incredulously, "Marilla, it's the mother's place to be a chaperone."

"Rachel," Marilla said, "I would defer to you on this, please. You know I've never been off the island. I'd like to keep it that way. Also, I think Gilbert will behave better if he knew you were watching his every move and taking reports back to his mother. That boy is too much like his father, and his father used to 'maneuver and manage' me easily."

Everyone grinned at Marilla's re-using of Anne's coinage.

"Oh, I should go," Diana said. "It's so late, Fred is probably worried and the wet-nurse needs to go home."

"Would it be all right if I stopped by tomorrow?" Anne implored.

"Why don't you come by Mother's for tea?" Diana suggested. "Miss Blythe will be there and Mother loves to cuddle baby Fred, so we should be left alone. We'll have a nice chat."

* * *

Anne spent the next morning helping the twins with the homework Mr. Holmes had assigned to their class. Dora also had a scene from _Romeo and Juliet_ which was frustrating her, because she had to act her scene with Ralph Andrews. Ralph was being "really weird about it" according to Davy. Anne got to see a bit of Davy's Romeo before he shooed Anne's direction away in a huff. "Minnie May and I have this down pat now," Davy said, trotting off to finish chores.

Anne helped Dora by calmly explaining the scene and reading Romeo's lines. She listened as Dora said, "That which we call a rose by another name would smell as sweet," with a sly smile and internal chuckle. She still didn't believe a rose would smell as sweet if it were called a skunk-cabbage. Her objection to Shakespeare's argument stayed unspoken though, it wasn't the point of the assignment.

Dora read well enough. "Your Romeo has to react to Juliet's confession. He should positively collapse into a gooey, mushy mess knowing how much Juliet loves him." Anne closed the book and tried not to draw parallels to Gilbert and her confessions to him. "Really, all you have to do is remember the lines. The words themselves give great momentum."

"I'm so nervous," Dora said. Her hazel eyes blinked slowly down in thought, she pursed her lips. "I think Ralph will toss a kiss up to me."

"That doesn't sound too scandalous. How'd you end up paired with Ralph anyway?" Anne mused. "I would have thought you and Davy could have done a scene together, maybe not this scene, but something else."

Dora turned bright red at Anne's question. "Anne, I paid Minnie May ten cents to trade with her."

Anne tried not to smile at Dora's scheme. "That was quite bold of you."

"And expensive, but I can't be reading _Romeo and Juliet_ with my brother," Dora rolled her becoming eyes and brushed back her blonde braids. "That wouldn't be right."

"Oh, no," Anne nodded. She still had an inkling Dora harbored an interest in Ralph. "Of course not."

"Did you have to do play acting in school?"

"No," Anne answered. "We learned soliloquies instead. Gilbert used to give them all the time at winter concerts. I did it once or twice."

"Oh, I bet you enjoyed that."

Anne cleared the kitchen table. Their study session closed. "I have a bigger appreciation for it now. When do you perform?"

"Tuesday, so Ralph and I will need to work on it Monday night," Dora said.

"I'm really sorry I can't be there to watch," Anne apologized. "I do want to ask you a favor since I see how resourceful you are. There's something in the school's storage shed I should like." Dora's eyes widened as Anne explained what she wanted.

* * *

Later that afternoon Anne walked briskly into Avonlea. She had her shopping basket tucked under her arm, for she meant to visit the general store and stop in at Helen's business. Along the way, Anne would leave the road for her favorite haunts, clipping heather and fern to take with her and treasure. The warm air brought the scent of cut grass and hay to Anne's nose. The fragrance of fall permeated the entire countryside.

Anne's mood was so content she was even able to bow her head politely to Josie Pye as she walked the other way with her young man. Anne was pleasantly surprised that both Josie and Gertie had kept their word about not telling anyone about Gilbert's magic. Then again, Gilbert and Anne were keeping Gertie's situation private too. Josie's story was based on good guesswork, for they had never flat out admitted to her that her theory was right. On the other hand, they had tangible proof of Gertie's soiled reputation in the existence of her son.

No, if anything had bothered Gilbert about that day, it was Diana's clever handling of Josie's accusations to him. Diana couldn't really know for sure that Gilbert had healing powers. There was no reason for her to know that, so it was very intriguing that she so skillfully handled Josie. Should they confirm the story for Diana's benefit, or should they let it go for now until necessary? Deciding not to decide, the latter solution was employed.

Anne had already told Gilbert she didn't want to lie to Diana, should Diana press her for information. Gilbert told Anne that he didn't want others to know, not until he had a greater handle on his re-formed abilities. He did acknowledge Diana was trustworthy and advised Anne he would trust her to do what's right, should the question arise.

Anne surmised that perhaps Helen needed to be consulted.

* * *

"Hello Helen," Anne said with a smile to her new friend. Helen had set up her sewing shoppe next to the Avonlea Post Office, renting the space from Mr. Harrison. It was only one room, with six sewing machines strategically placed along the walls. At a workbench, Helen had her head down and her shears out, cutting the finest of all lace into small curved triangles. Anne couldn't tell what Helen was going to make.

Helen stayed focus on her delicate work, the shears snipped the fabric with clean edges. Anne felt a little bit ignored, but waited patiently. Once done, Helen carefully stored her scissors away and returned Anne's smile.

"Hello Miss Shirley," Helen said. "I see you found my humble place of business."

Anne set her basket down on the counter and shrugged. "I thought we were using first names, Miss Blythe."

"And so we are, at home, Miss Shirley," Helen said. "I'm afraid that I must uphold formalities as I become acquainted with the other fine residents of Avonlea, per Mr. Harrison's rather autocratic lease agreement," Helen explained through gritted teeth. "Now, how may I help you today?"

"Well, Miss Blythe," Anne felt silly going back to such stiff rapport, knowing the things she knew about her. "Gilbert wrote and has asked if I might come up to Kingsport in December for the Medical School's Winter Ball. It's supposed to be a grand affair. I would like a new dress made for it." Anne pointed to the tiny bits of lace before Helen. "You come highly recommended, per my friend Diana Wright." Anne paused, still confused. _What Helen was piecing together?_ "What is this you're making?"

"Ladies' underthings," Helen basted the triangles together, "Corsets, chemises, and lingerie. My client is trying to get her husband's attention."

"Oh," Anne said, feeling washed with too much information.

"It's a bit tedious, but I prefer making such clothing. It's more profitable than dresses and there's less competition. Would you like to see something I've completed?"

"Oh no!" Anne said. "That's quite alright. I'm surprised that Mr. Harrison hasn't exerted more authority over you frankly."

"Which is why I'm doing things by the book," Helen retorted. "But you want a fancy dress, did you have something special in mind?

Anne requested a green dress with cream accents, "And I know I shall be freezing, but I want capped sleeves with very long gloves and a bit of a train."

"Whatever Miss Shirley wants, I have some fabric swatches for you to look at," Helen pulled out her book of fabrics swatches her supplier had given her. "Green is not a very popular color for most folk, so I dare say I'll be able to get it right quick." Helen speed sketched what she intended to do which met Anne's approval.

Anne studied the fabrics, picking out something that hinted of the Irish coast and clover, but it was darker and richer, more like an emerald, yet not quite jewel-toned. Helen's blue eyes were delighted by it.

"Oh, that's a fine color for you," Helen said. "This green will really bring out the brightest parts of your hair. Oh, I'll need to write Gilbert and tell him what to get so he's equal to it. Like every man I've ever known, he thinks Sunday best will do. Don't worry, I won't tell him exactly how you will look, and with the right hairstyle…

"Have you ever thought of cutting a bang?"

"No," Anne said, as Helen scribbled notes down on the notions she would need to order in addition to the fabric.

"You should consider it. It's going to be quite the trend very soon," Helen winked. "And you have the perfect face for it, so long and slender, it would make your gray eyes even more alluring."

"Let me think about it," Anne said as Helen curtained a corner to measure Anne. "How did you meet Diana?"

"Mrs. Wright was my first customer here," Helen said. "I have to say that she placed an order as an excuse to meet me, but she loved what I made so much, she's really kick-started my business. She sent me all the Pye sisters and the Gillis clan. Raise your arms dear."

Anne lifted her arms as Helen measured her bust, waist, and hips and wrote it down in her order book.

"I'll be joining you for tea with Mrs. Wright over at her mother's house. Diana and I go way back."

"We can walk over together then," Helen said, as she ushered Anne back to the front of the store. "I like Mrs. Wright quite a bit. She's an easy read and she doesn't talk. She's very clever too, figured out what I was in no time. Not that I ever deny having a third eye."

"She knows about you?" Anne asked quietly. The shoppe was empty of other customers, yet they continued at a whisper.

"Well, with my short hair and my flamboyant personality, I do look the part, don't I?" Helen said. "All I need is a headscarf and big hoop earrings and I can join a carnival, right?"

Anne laughed, she made a good point. "But what about Gil? Does Diana know about him?"

"She wrestling with that question and hasn't decided anything," Helen said. "Bertie did tell me what happened in Charlottetown. You could play it off yet as nothing -that is if you don't want her to know, but… I think you'd be denying yourself a good ally, to be honest." Helen started pulling down the window shades to close for tea.

"I guess that's logical," Anne said picking up her things. They exited together. Anne stopped and waited for Helen to lock up.

* * *

 _Letter to Gilbert Blythe, from Anne Shirley, October_

 _Dearer-than-dear, my dearest Gilbert,_

 _My pen is scratchy today and I'm writing to you from my spot on the train, trying to report everything that happened at Green Gables this weekend. I'm tired and I'm afraid to say that my letter will not be more than just functional. Please know that I love you to pieces, and I miss you too, and yes, I even long for you as well._

 _First off is the good news:_

 _I will be attending the ball! Marilla thought it important for me to go with you and "help advance your career" however, and there's always a but in such happiness, Mrs. Lynde will be my chaperone. So I shall dance with you under the suspicious eyes of a widow that truly knows every trick in the book a young couple might take to be alone, not that we'd do anything wicked, but it'd be so nice to tempt ourselves, wouldn't it?_

 _Helen will be making my dress, and all I can say is that her 'gifts' may be stronger with needle and thread. It's amazing the things she can make. And she's making everything too; dress, coat, gloves, and foundation garments. The only thing she is not making is the shoes and I already have my eyes on something in Summerside. It's a fancy dancing shoe with slick bottom soles and heels, perfect for being glided across a shiny marble dancing floor._

 _But now I have to write about something troublesome. You remember how we discussed Diana's reaction to Josie's prods to you after baby Robbie was born? How Diana just knew the right thing to say and the right thing to do? We were left wondering how much of her behavior was legitimate and how much was an act? I'm worried she might know now. And if so, it's my fault dearest._

 _I had tea with Diana and Helen at Orchard Slope, and when Helen was visiting Mrs. Barry to inquire if Minnie May could work a few hours for her, Diana told me, "Helen has gifts, Anne! She's clairvoyant!"_

 _When Helen had returned to our private circle, I found out that Diana asked Helen to visit Robert, Robbie's father, in a vision and tell him about his family and to come home right away. And this is the horrible part, you must forgive me Gilbert. Helen said that she couldn't quite reach him to give the message, but he was on board a ship sailing home already._

 _All in good humor, Diana asked, "How could he possibly know to return home now?"_

 _And Helen replied, "Well, maybe someone else got word to him."_

 _"Like who," Diana answered, but then all levity was lost from her and she stared very pointedly at me. "Anne, who else do we know that could do something that supernatural?"_

 _Diana never flat out said your name. No. But it was implied. The entire ellipse was, "Does Gilbert have powers, like his cousin?"_

 _I said nothing, I swear, but maybe I should have…?_

 _I really think that by not answering and sitting there mute did more to support Diana's notions than not. She saw I was trying to protect you, my love. And I am also sure in Diana's way, she saw my reluctance to discuss you as ultimately honorable, and so she left her disappointment at my feet. I think she knows that Josie wasn't lying if she didn't already suspect it before. I never meant to betray you, if that's what happened._

 _I do hope you can forgive me. Please know I can't stand the thought of you being disappointed in me._

 _I love you, never forget that._

 _Anne_

 _P.S. I will visit the photographer soon._

 **to be continued**


	6. Gala

Timeline - Jump forward a few months for the term break around Christmas. This chapter would occur before Chapter 8 in _Anne of Windy Poplars_ , The First Year.

* * *

 **Chapter 6: Gala**

Gilbert Blythe donned his lab coat over his button-down shirt and trousers at the front desk of the hospital. He was late for rounds with the third year interns, where today his only job was to observe. He completed his practical exams earlier in the week and was glad that he wouldn't be called upon to answer more questions. As it was, he could barely keep his eyes open. The last week had been a series of final exams and late night reviews with a myriad of other students, including his own roommates Eugene and Marcus. All three of them were short on rest, as they were all trying to win the Excellence Award for their class and had studied themselves sleep-sick. Punctuality was a factor in the award; although with the winter ball and awards ceremony scheduled for that night, Gilbert told himself that the winner was already decided and being late would not matter.

He darted around the corner of the maternity ward straining his ear for the voice of Professor Dr. Strickland. Gilbert saw a school of white-coated medical students through the small window at the front of the pediatric ward. He straightened his tie and collar as he joined the others around the bed of a little girl Gilbert had come to know. Red-headed, pig-tailed Suzette shared her bed with another child, who was quietly hiding under the cover.

He brushed back his brown wavy hair as his roommate Marcus Trimble lampooned his tardiness with sarcasm, "Glad you can make it today."

Visiting the pediatric ward was always the first stop, as it was the most distressing. It was also the ward where they wanted to do their best work. Nobody liked seeing sick children in terrible states of pain and trouble.

Little Suzette had been plagued with dizzy spells, bruises, and lethargy for several months. She would seem to be better, and then have an episode at home, and be brought right back into the hospital. No one could understand what was wrong with her until someone analyzed her blood under a microscope. The results were grim and tear producing. Gilbert had also witnessed the supervising physician tell her parents that their daughter's condition was terminal. She would die. It cut a hole in Gilbert's stomach as he observed the mother collapsing into her husband's arms. Grief was already upon them. The couple offered prayers in French, invoking the names of Joseph and Mary.

He felt an affinity to this Canadian-French girl from the first, because of her red hair and hazel eyes. Would this be how his own little girl would look one day? Only, she would have other traits, such as Anne's fine nose and the Blythe legacy? It was harder than Gilbert expected to stay objective to the task of medicine.

The Intern-in-Chief said something to Suzette about being brave, and with luck, she could go home for Christmas. Gilbert swallowed knowing that 'going home' meant going home to eternal rest. Her chart had been passed around and Gilbert had read her dire diagnosis, leukemia. Maybe one day in the future science would provide successful treatment. Suzette's only chance today was Gilbert's healing powers.

She focused on Gilbert because he was not scribbling notes like the others and because she remembered his kind face. Gilbert winked and she sat rigid in response. The class wandered off to the next patient but Gilbert loitered at her bed to reassure her.

"Hello, you remember me, right? I'm Mr. Blythe," Gilbert heard himself say, holding out his hand.

Suzette didn't say anything back but reached to shake his hand. Gilbert used his healing powers to sense the extent of her condition as he took her little hand. The energies built up under his skin and warmed hers with a gentle probe. She did not question the sensation. She was still too young to know perhaps she was feeling something amiss. Gilbert definitely felt a vocation to try and help, but he wasn't sure if he was powerful enough to stop the Great Destroyer. As gifted as he was supposed to be, and even with Anne's constant and consistent love, he knew his abilities were still broken.

"I like your pretty red hair," Gilbert voiced as he checked his pockets for candy. He did not want her to see his eyes just yet. "I have a girlfriend whose hair is every bit as red as yours."

Suzette blinked her hazel eyes and whispered, "I used to hate it so much."

"Here, have a peppermint," Gilbert smiled, remembering many a lecture from Anne about why red hair was so intolerable, "Why did you hate it?"

"Red is ugly."

"Oh, no," Gilbert said. "Red can be really pretty! My Anne-girl is coming to see me tonight. We're going dancing. Would you like to meet her so you can see?"

Her big eyes blinked "yes".

 _Hold on, Suzette._

If he was going to heal her, it would be today, with his confidence standing next to him. Gilbert saw that the class was moving on to the geriatric wards. Apologizing for leaving, he told Suzette, "All right, I'll see you again soon."

* * *

Later on that morning, Gilbert found himself at the docks to greet the ferry Anne and Mrs. Lynde had booked from Summerside. The weather had turned warm, so much so Gilbert thought he could take off his woolen coat as he stood near the dock. He watched the frigid, gray waters churn and ruffle as vessels scored the surface of the straight.

Folks were out on the pier, rejecting cramp waiting rooms where gentlemen smoked cigars and pipes. He had difficulty seeing through the constant moving throng. Eventually, a ferry named _Kaleidoscope_ made its way to shore and he saw them. Gilbert felt the corners of his mouth move up to his ears seeing Anne on the deck, with Mrs. Lynde, waving hello at his sight. She practically ran off the little ship to be near him. Such was their exuberant embrace that several stopped and watched them, almost applauding the reunion as Gilbert swung her round in a circle.

"Oh, God," Gilbert said in her ear so that only she could hear, "How I love you, Anne!" He brushed her face and kissed her hands. He would have kissed her outright on the lips if it were not for a complete lack of privacy. How had he existed without her these last four months? He didn't know he was a creature starving for her affections, but he was. He was famished. His Anne-girl was in his arms again, more becoming than ever.

He looked at her closer, "You've cut your hair?"

"Yes, I have," Anne said. "I cut a bang, do you like it?"

Gilbert rubbed her face again and smiled, "It suits you. I can see your eyes so much better."

"I'll take that as a 'yes' then, Mr. Blythe."

By this time Mrs. Lynde had strolled over to Anne and Gilbert, and Gilbert could see that the wise, old lady had shed some weight, so much so that he was slightly alarmed. Anne had not mentioned this in her letters. Mrs. Lynde was outspoken as ever. "Well, Gilbert! I suppose you have a cab ready for us. I don't fancy standing around with pick-pockets every-which-way."

"Mrs. Lynde," Gilbert responded whilst bestowing a kiss on her hand. He sensed nothing through her glove. "Thank you for chaperoning Anne, I can't tell you how appreciative I am. Give me your luggage tickets and I'll get it all squared away."

* * *

He had booked a suite for Anne and Mrs. Lynde at the hotel where the gala was to be held. It was a very expensive room, but after some correspondence with Anne, they decided to take on the expense. Anne said she would pay the fare for the ferry for both herself and Mrs. Lynde's travels and half the hotel bill. The next day Gilbert would join them and board the ferry back to Prince Edward Island together for the Christmas holiday. They would forgo expensive presents and improvise gifts from the heart to save money.

Gilbert was taken back at the opulence of the venue as he escorted Anne and Mrs. Lynde through the hotel's grand lobby. The halls were made of marble and the chandeliers hung like glittering diamonds from alabaster ceilings. Everywhere they turned there was a luxury to be enjoyed. The hotel had fancy hot and cold plumbing; and fountains that sprayed colored water in a dance. There were reproduction paintings of famous nudes on the wall of the lounge, which made him wonder what Mrs. Lynde would think. He did try to steer them away from the fine replica of Michelangelo's famed statue 'David' near the elevators. The last thing he needed was noticing Anne looking at David's naked physique.

He found relief from the risque artwork as the bellboy led them to their suite on the third floor. Their trunks followed them and Anne generously tipped the boy for his efforts. Mrs. Lynde politely thanked Gilbert for arranging such a fine room, for they each had their own feather bed nestled away from the suite's parlor. Mrs. Lynde asked him to stay for a cup of tea.

"I actually wanted to see if I could borrow Anne for a little bit," Gilbert said. "I want to show her the hospital. I promise to feed and water her and bring her back in time for you to dress."

Mrs. Lynde still seemed determined to say "No." Anne started to work on her instead and Mrs. Lynde's bright brown eyes softened under Anne's argument.

"If you let me go with Gilbert now, you'll hear me talk a lot less about how much I miss him, and that will be good for your afternoon nap. Besides, we'll be in public, it's really at the ball and afterward that you need to be on your guard."

Gilbert again got the inkling that Mrs. Lynde wasn't feeling well as she thought it over, but he didn't know if it was because of his healing powers sensing things, as they sometimes did, or if it was her uncharacteristic lack of resolve to stick to her guns. She had agreed to release Anne to Gilbert the rest of the afternoon.

* * *

"Oh, the poor thing," Anne said after Gilbert shared Suzette's condition. "And you don't think there's anything medically that can be done?" They were walking the six blocks through the Kingsport business district to the hospital. Gilbert was holding her hand, protecting Anne from passing strangers that may intercept them. Anne still had that habit of being oblivious to others when next to him.

"Medically no," Gilbert shrugged as he looked around to see if they were alone before speaking, "I don't know if I can heal her by myself, I think I need you."

"What do you mean?" Anne questioned.

"I mean I need you," Gilbert said. "It doesn't quite make sense to me either, but you do something to me to make it all work. Anne, I have to try."

"Of course you have to try. Have you been doing other tricks here at school?"

"Small things, nothing big or noticeable, except..." Gilbert hedged. "The other students call me Dr. Diagnosis. I know which questions to ask the patient in the exam and the conclusions to make from the answers. But I get all the information I need when I shake their hands. That seems to be how my power is manifesting anymore, although sometimes I have to force it. Oh….and I did heal Eugene from a cold he had for several days. I just couldn't take the coughing anymore, so late one night when I thought he was asleep, I went and zapped him. He woke up and wanted to know what I was doing."

"And what did you say?"

"I said that there was a big spider on him and I got it."

"Did it work?"

"Yes," Gilbert said. "He said, 'Oh good!' and fell right back to sleep. I've been kicking myself for not doing it sooner."

"You're not relying on your powers too much are you?"

It was a fair question. Gilbert shook his head. "No, I don't believe so. I mean, I have wondered about it, if my lot was too easy. Everyone has their own forte. My roommate Marcus is exceptionally good at setting bones and Eugene's knowledge about reproductive issues exceeds the professor's. He's actually published papers. We all have our own talents it turns out."

Gilbert held the door for Anne as they entered the hospital. Anne, who had never been in a hospital before, was strongly reminded of the children's asylum she had lived in a few months before coming to Green Gables. She froze, trying to tell herself that she wasn't in an orphanage, and she wasn't being abandoned to an unfeeling, uncaring building. Gilbert saw Anne's dread.

"This place reminds me of the orphanage. It even smells like it," Anne told him.

Gilbert's brow furrowed with concern, "The pediatric ward may shock you then. Just so you know before we see it."

He checked in at the desk and got his white lab coat. Anne momentarily smiled for him; he looked all professional and doctor-like.

She grimaced at the sight of so many sick and crying children as they entered the room. The nurses were clearly overrun with work. Gilbert realized that the school visits were especially scheduled during periods of high hospital staffing for he had never seen it this disorderly before now.

He cast his eyes to the bed that had been Suzette's. The child wasn't there, but her bed mate still was, now emerged from the covers, sitting quietly reading a book. A nurse spotted Gilbert and approached him.

"Mr. Blythe," she said after reading his name tag. "Students are not scheduled to be here at this hour."

"Well, I made a promise to Suzette. I wanted her to meet someone who has pretty red hair." Gilbert looked to Anne and Anne smiled feeling slightly flattered.

"I see," the nurse said whilst ignoring the cries of children. "Unfortunately, Suzette has passed away. It happened about an hour ago."

 _What?_

Gilbert felt his face wash of all color and a sick, queer feeling overrode all other sensations he could be feeling instead. Anne too felt his emotions shift like a temperature change.

"She died? Suzette..? The little red-headed girl? Are you sure?"

"I am sure," the nurse nodded as she excused herself.

Gilbert took two steps away from Anne to breathe. Anne approached him closing their gap and placing her hand on his torso.

"Gil?" She said, "You did nothing wrong."

"Except that I did nothing at all," His jaw jutted in his discomfort. "Why was I so afraid to heal her?"

"Gilbert, not everything is going to be cut and dried," Anne answered and in a lower register, whispered. "What you're feeling right now is what will make you a great doctor."

Gilbert dropped his hand over hers and frowned. He looked to her, almost ashamed to admit it, but it had to be said, "But I'm not like any other doctor, am I?"

"Perhaps not," Anne agreed, "But you're not God either. Do you really want to take on that mantle?"

Gilbert found himself shaking his head again. By now they had exited the ward for the hallway. Gilbert showed her a door to a private stairwell.

"What's the point of being a Blythe if I don't use my powers?" Gilbert dumbly asked as he resigned himself to a step.

Anne could see how tired he was. His normal cheerfulness took effort and energy he did not have. Anne made him scoot over so she could sit next to him.

"Gilbert," she reached around to hug him and rest her head on his shoulder. Her other hand she placed on his heart. "You intended to heal her and that means everything. Any hesitation you had was very well placed. I truly believe that. You're going to be a great doctor because you have such tremendous heart."

To Anne's relief, Gilbert relaxed, trusting himself to her care. Anne gave him her full attention as he started to unwind.

"I knew one day, something like this would happen, but I hate knowing that a little girl's life was lost. Why couldn't it have been someone older and less innocent? Why did it have to be a girl whose sole complaint in life was having red hair?"

"If you're drawing parallels to me you should stop," Anne ordered. "It's only making it harder. Gilbert, maybe it takes all sorts to make a world of people, even a world we cannot see or be apart of yet. These are questions for philosophers and ministers, not doctors."

Gilbert checked his watch and saw the time, tea time. He stood and looked to Anne who remained on the stair step, her arms wrapped around her purple skirted knees. Anne was right. He was going to be a doctor, and this experience, as unpleasant as it was, it was part of his training. He had to let things go, move forward and learn.

"I promised you tea, didn't I?" He offered his hand so she could stand up. Anne still heard a tinge of anguish in his voice.

"Yes, I believe you did, but first, kiss me, please," Anne implored as she placed his arms around her waist. She put her own hands on his arms. "I know maybe it seems misplaced right now to ask. But I want you to, and I sense you need something, and I doubt we'll be alone again today."

Gilbert was slow to respond, but Anne thought she saw his mouth part as he considered her proposal.

"Since when is kissing me a challenge," Anne teased, rubbing his arms.

"Well, since you put it that way," Gilbert whispered. "There were about eleven years before our engagement that come to mind."

Gilbert slowly moved Anne against the wall and when she could take no more steps backward, he gently brushed his lips over hers and held himself there repeating the action. The deliberate slowness of his lips on hers made Anne's insides swell and pound with excitement. He was trying so hard to stay in control of himself and she wanted him to break. Eventually, their kissing darkened and Anne wrapped a leg around him to brace her standing position. She sensed where he wanted to put his hands as he moved them uncertainly along her sides. She gave consent by taking his hand and placing it over her left breast.

The kissing abruptly stopped as he felt the soft curve of Anne's flesh under his palm. Realizing what he was feeling, and being a gentleman of the highest order, he tried to pull his hand away, but Anne's held it there.

"Anne, I don't want to use you," Gilbert locked his amazed eyes on her quiet, encouraging ones. There was not a hint of embarrassment between them.

"Gil, don't you understand yet?" Anne heaved. "I love you. Your hand is on my heart, and my heart is yours." Anne put her hand over his heart once again. "Is this not mine?"

Gilbert's face flashed appreciation for her words. His heart has always been hers since the day she cracked her slate over his head. He looked at his hand so possessively placed. "It's really all right?"

"Do you think I'd let you if it wasn't," Anne asked.

Gilbert laughed heartily, "No, you would not, Miss Shirley, but we've got to stop this now. I've got to stop, I mean." He let his hand fall away. It required effort on his part to will it down.

"Thank you, Anne, for helping me feel better," Gilbert said, as he kissed her on the cheek.

* * *

On the way back to the hotel, Gilbert casually inquired about Mrs. Lynde's well-being. "How is it that she's lost weight?"

Anne reached for his hand as they attempted to cross the street safely. "I don't know Gil, she says nothing is wrong but she struggles to finish a meal. Marilla is starting to worry."

Gilbert tried to ignore his perhaps unwarranted concern. Mrs. Lynde needed to lose weight after all. "I could try and read her tonight at some point. It would be easy during a dance when I have to hold her hand."

"I don't think Mrs. Lynde plans on dancing," Anne said as they stopped and waited for a chance to cross the street. The December air had grown frosty again. Anne's cheeks were turning white and she re-adjusted her gray scarf around her neck before adding, "Don't you think she's more of the mindset that dancing is the devil's handiwork?"

"Well, something else then," Gilbert and Anne joined hands again as they jogged across the thoroughfare. The exercise warmed them up and brought color back to their faces. "Just as long as I can touch her skin, but if she is sick, how should I go about healing her?"

Anne saw the complication. Mrs. Lynde was a gossip and spoke so bluntly that arming her with knowledge of Gilbert's magical powers was a tremendous risk. "I guess we either need to tell her or you need to … zap her?" Anne asked, "Is that the technical term?"

"Either way she'll know something. I haven't figured out how to keep the voltage down."

Anne chuckled. "You should find out what's wrong with her before we trouble ourselves with the question. Let's not waste our worry."

Gilbert and Anne were now at the side entrance of the hotel and Anne motioned that they should go in that way. Gilbert grabbed her elbow from behind to stop her. "Oh no," Gilbert said as Anne pursued the short cut. "Only the hotel employees and the..." Gilbert stopped talking but then realized he was already committed to finishing his thought, "...the prostitutes use that door."

Anne stared back at him furiously and pulled her arm out of his hand. Gilbert was sure that her eyes turned purple as Anne jumped to an erroneous conclusion. "How would you know, Gilbert Blythe!"

"It's not from experience if that's what you're thinking," He said, utterly amazed at her reaction. He replied so hurtfully and sternly that Anne felt ashamed of herself. She couldn't even look at him as he continued his speech. "The truth is that although medicine is a noble profession a lot of the men here are not. They think they know everything about the human body and that gives them permission to be cads. There are days I wonder if I belong here at all." Gilbert didn't go on to explain he was asked if he would like to have a 'lady friend' that evening to celebrate the end of the term. It still amazed him that they thought he'd be interested when everyone knew how much in love he was with Anne. "They make a big talk, all the time. That's how I know."

"Gil, I'm so ashamed and sorry!" Anne said as she brought a hand up to her brow from embarrassment. "There are sometimes I don't know what comes over me. Of course, I know better of you! Forgive me please!"

"I forgive you. I've never seen you so jealous before," Gilbert said. "That was quite eye-opening."

"Thank you for stopping me from disgracing myself. I am sure I would have used that door if you were not here."

Gilbert continued to walk Anne through the lobby, past the nude paintings in the lounge and to the elevator. He did see Anne's cheeks flush slightly as her eyes passed over the statue of the male nude. Strangely, he wasn't as bothered with Anne looking at it as he thought he would be.

* * *

Gilbert lingered in the grand lobby for Anne and Mrs. Lynde to come down from their suite. He felt uncomfortable in his attire. Helen had given him such specific instructions on the type of suit he needed, that it took a visit to not one, but three different haberdasheries to put it all together. He did feel exceedingly well groomed and was proud of his appearance. The wandering eyes of a few ladies, young and old, told him his vanity was not misplaced. He was handsome to the fairer sex.

Mrs. Lynde found him first. She was wearing a black, long-sleeved dress with black ribbons pinned tucked vertically next to the many buttons that held her gown together. She looked the part she was to play, matronly chaperone, and had a fan in her right hand, ready to slap Gilbert if he started any of his famous teasings on Anne. Gilbert took Mrs. Lynde's gloveless hand and bowed to her.

"My thanks to you again for chaperoning Anne," Gilbert spoke very slowly and took his time to stand. He was able to find out the cause of her weight loss. His eyes widened as he got his answer. He politely dropped her hand and tried to hide his concern.

"Are you nervous Gilbert? Your hand is super hot," Mrs. Lynde said taking it back and shaking it to cool.

"No, I'm not especially nervous. But, where's Anne?" He looked in the direction from where Mrs. Lynde came and thought he saw movement.

"She looks really beautiful and she wants to surprise you. She's waiting for you by the statue of that naked man."

Gilbert straightened his bow tie and flounced his coattails. He was a bit nervous to see her because the more beautiful she looked, the more foolish he felt. His footsteps echoed as he walked with feigned confidence to the alcove by the elevator, where he found Anne staring directly at David.

His heart stopped at the beauty that was before him.

Her hair was a cascade of auburn waves, with a golden ribbon weaved in and out of her tresses. Her hair was so bright and rich in color, it made the ribbon's golden highlight almost flat. The top of her dress was simple enough. It was almost sleeveless, the fabric extended just beyond her shoulder joint, like petals for her emerging upper arm. A small length of milky white skin was exposed. The rest of her arm was gloved in variegated greens and that made Gilbert think of a lily's foliage. Her neck bore the familiar string of pearls Matthew Cuthbert had given her so long ago. Although her gown wasn't a hoop skirt, Anne had a small bustle in the back and a modest train behind her. The embroidery at the hip line stretched up into the bodice such to make her athletic figure look more gloriously curved. At the base of the skirt, slits were made such that her creamed colored underskirt's lace made a peek-a-boo appearance. Around her back, a matching shawl draped.

Gilbert thought her bare, upper arms begged to be kissed, but what he loved the most about Anne's appearance was the smile she gave when she saw him. He was going to be a complete fool tonight with her looking like that.

"Anne," Gilbert could barely hear himself. His breath was so bated. He ran a finger along the length of her arm. "You look…. Absolutely amazing."

"You look dashing yourself," Anne returned, hardly able to endure the drag he put on her skin. "This dress, it's not too much, is it?" She said, stepping forward and in a circle.

"You're perfection tonight. Every man in that room with a heartbeat will notice you."

Mrs. Lynde joined Anne and Gilbert as Gilbert brought Anne into the grand lobby on his arm. He suffered from a terrible case of pride as the other medical students saw them. Anne seemed to be more in her element as she and Mrs. Lynde conversed and Gilbert recovered his senses.

Mrs. Lynde had checked out their dance cards from the registration table and handed Anne's over.

"Of course, I'm not supposed to dance, I'm surprised they gave me a card," Mrs. Lynde said. "I'm to be watching the two of you."

"Is there a way I can persuade you to dance with me?" Gilbert asked, at last, finding his voice. "Maybe a quadrille?"

"Well, I do a much better wallflower actually. One misstep and you'll wish you had on your steel toe boots."

"A quadrille is super easy, it's a square dance in good clothes and no barn," Gilbert was not going to let Mrs. Lynde off the hook. Anne laughed as Gil raised his hazel eyes to Mrs. Lynde saying "please" in his adorable way.

"Well, if you insist Gilbert Blythe. I can go back and tell Marilla and Mrs. Harmon Andrews all about it. Marilla won't be too impressed, but Mrs. Harmon, she'll be a mite jealous. She loves dancing, although, I do I want Anne in our quad so I can follow her. I haven't done the quadrille in years."

Anne flipped her dance card open and was not too shocked that she already had a few requests penciled in.

"I think your roommates found my dance card, it's strange that they have your handwriting though. Is this what you were up to waiting for us?"

"Well, I want you to get to know them," Gilbert responded. "Marcus has me waltzing with his girl, Ella, I think her name is. Let's find a table so Mrs. Lynde can sit down."

In the banquet hall, Gilbert heard Eugene's voice call out, "Blythe!" and Gilbert and Anne strained their necks around until Anne spotted a slightly older, bespectacled, balding man waving in their direction. Gilbert lifted his chin in acknowledgment and brought both Anne and Mrs. Lynde to the round table he had staked out for their party.

"You'll notice I grabbed the table nearest the podium, so you don't have to wait any longer than necessary for me to accept the Excellence Award for our class," Eugene said. "You know I'm going to win it. Didn't I just publish again?"

"Here, I thought you chose it because you were hard of hearing, Old Man," Gilbert answered. "Please meet my fiancee, Anne Shirley. Anne, this is Eugene Felder, one of my roommates and a fine scholar as well."

Eugene stood for Anne and in doing so, knocked his water goblet over in one swooping motion, "Oh, geesh!" He grabbed his napkin, but by this point, Anne was also trying to help him out. "Oh, don't trouble yourself, Miss Shirley. I'm sure that I will not be worse for wear in this old plaid suit of mine. It's lovely to meet you. Gilbert spends all his free time reading your letters and talking about you and he's right: You're very pretty. Please sit down. Gilbert also says you're very smart."

"Trust me on this one, she's smarter than all of us together," Gilbert then motioned to Mrs. Lynde, pulling out a chair so she could sit down, "Eugene, Mrs. Rachel Lynde is Anne's chaperone tonight."

"It's lovely to meet you too. There's not a lot of folks that bother with chaperones these days, but I'm glad to see that the custom is not lost everywhere."

"Well! I don't think Anne's guardian Marilla Cuthbert is aware she's behind the times, but I agree with her that Anne and Gilbert need to be watched," Mrs. Lynde boldly exposed. "It's no secret in Avonlea how mad they are for each other."

"You're not her guardian then?" Eugene said in friendly conversation.

"No, I'm a long time family friend, or so I hope. I know just about everything about her, including how to control her if needed." Mrs. Lynde said, flaring her fan for effect.

"Oh, you're rather harsh, aren't you?" Eugene said back in a mischievous echo. Looking to Anne, "I feel sorry for you now, and Gilbert too."

Anne guffawed at the remark, "She enjoys poking fun at me whenever she can. Trust me, I earned it a long time ago with my bad temper."

Several medical students from all classes made their way over to Gilbert to say hello and to be introduced to the lovely redheaded woman in green. Anne's dance card filled up quickly, but at as it was her custom, she always saved one waltz, one two-step and one slow dance for her escort. Anne was busy writing down names of young men and a couple of important professors when she heard a voice say, "I hope there's one more for me, Anne Shirley."

Anne's heart stopped in trepidation. She knew that voice! That horrible voice that used to scold and humiliate her to tears. But wait, he was dead now. It couldn't really be him, that was impossible, although, it sounded like him to the last detail.

Preparing herself for a surprise, she apprehensively looked up and returned the glazed stare of Hugo Hammond, Mrs. Hammond's oldest son. Next to him was clearly his twin sister, Ella. The two of them were not much younger than her, what was it? Three years? She never expected to see them again, not that she wanted to anyway. Anne replied in her overly intellectual and defensive way, "To dance with you Hugo would be like dancing with a ghost. You are like your father, in appearance, and in voice. I hope though that your manners are better."

Gilbert was in conversation with Marcus Trimble but he interrupted it when he heard Anne speak with such sharpness. Perhaps the others did not know it, but he could tell that Anne was not enjoying the reunion taking place around her.

"I told Hugo that he was wrong," Ella Hammond said, as she came forward. She had on a peach hoop skirt that had seen better days. "How could Mother's orphaned servant girl be here and in such finery? But it is surely you and only you! I remember exactly how you'd bark out orders. How is it that you're here?"

Gilbert felt Anne's discomfort radiate from her and so he sat next to her to help her cool down. Anne had only given him the barest details of her life before Green Gables. The small picture she had painted for him was a watercolor of pain and hurt.

Anne willed her voice to be calm. "I was very fortunate after Mrs. Hammond returned me to the orphanage. I was placed in a home on Prince Edward Island and finished my schooling there. I did well enough to go on to Queen's and I have a Bachelor's in Arts from Redmond. I am a teacher now."

"You taught us how to read," Hugo said. "I can certainly believe you're a teacher."

"Anne Shirley is one of the brightest students Avonlea ever produced!" Mrs. Lynde said beaming like a lighthouse, "She could be a doctor herself if this school allowed women to enroll. How many scholarships and awards were you given? How many stories have you published?"

Gilbert chimed in, "And somewhere along that journey she agreed to marry me."

Anne blushed at her loved ones coming to her cause so strongly. She took much comfort in their boasts. Nothing the Hammonds might say now could bother her.

Marcus held a chair out for his fiancee, Ella. She sat down across from Anne. Now that Anne felt a little calmer, she was able to look at her closer. She had Mrs. Hammond's bushy eyebrows and full figure. Her mouth though was her father's, a sharp cut of lips over a pointy chin.

Her conversation with the Hammonds was continuous and careful. Over the course of the dinner, before the awards were presented and before the band was warmed up, Anne learned how it was that these Hammond children were in Canada. Anne's last recollection of Mrs. Hammond was her complaint to the children's asylum that she couldn't be expected to keep Anne when she had to send her own children away to relatives. Mrs. Hammond was an American, so that is where her children ended up, in the States.

Ella explained for the table that she was very good friends with Marcus' sister Lorraine and she had kept up a correspondence with the Trimble family. When tragedy struck them again, the Trimble family offered them a home, and so they returned to Marysville, Nova Scotia a few years later. Anne also found out that Mrs. Hammond had passed away about the same time Matthew had died. They had lost contact with their other siblings as a result.

"Anne," Hugo said. "I know that this sounds very bad, but I'm not sure of the names of all my brothers and sisters anymore. Do you remember?"

Anne nodded, "I don't think I could ever forget them."

On the back of Ella's dance card, Anne wrote down the names of all the Hammond children. She even added the approximate birth dates and the order of birth on the twins. The exercise for Anne was rather healing. When she handed the card back to Ella, she was also handing over all the bad memories that sometimes haunted her dreams. Gilbert seemed proud she thought. It wasn't in the way he looked at her or the tone of his voice. That would be too obvious. She knew he was thinking of her because he kept tapping his foot over the top of her toes, in a reassuring tease. He knew her best and he knew that she had done something rather difficult.

Hugo smiled and thanked her. "This means more to me than you know. Thank you, Anne Shirley."

* * *

Gilbert came down from the podium with a small statue and certificate naming him the winner of the Excellence Award for his class. He briefly thanked everyone for the honor. He mentioned his other classmates in contention and paused before thanking his family and loved ones. He especially thanked Anne and quite thoroughly embarrassed her, saying she was the smartest person he knew, yet she had stupidly agreed to marry him. He exited in a crash of applause.

Another cacophony of noise followed as attendees stood and chairs moved. The waiters and bus boys started to clear the tables. From the bandstand, a clarinetist stood and played concert C as the other instruments tuned. Soon, the music started and Gilbert brought Anne out to the dance floor. He was anxious to hold her, this was the moment he longed for since the day he read she was coming to the dance!

"Gil, I am so proud of you!" Anne exclaimed as they stepped to the music. "The Excellence Award! The top student in your class no doubt. Did you have any idea? Your speech sounded a tiny bit rehearsed."

"I was hopeful, but I didn't know," Gilbert slowly moved Anne closer to his body as the music changed its meter. Anne's arms reached around him so that there was barely an inch between their torsos. He checked for Mrs. Lynde. Was she watching? From what he could tell she was in deep conversation with Hugo and Eugene.

"Gilbert Blythe," Anne said as her knees knocked into his. "What are you up to?" She felt her own respiration bounce off his chest and back into her face. She too checked for Mrs. Lynde's awareness of their growing lack of distance.

"I should tell you this before it gets much later, but Mrs. Lynde is sick. Very sick in fact. Do you know how long she has been feeling bad?"

Anne sighed, but her gasp didn't seem to be one of surprise. "I think since before we got engaged. She wanted to impart on me some marital advice on the off chance she wouldn't be around later on."

"You talked about me?"

"Don't worry yourself," Anne chuckled. "She was very much in your corner. But when I asked her why she wanted to tell me things so much in advance to our marriage, she said that she wasn't sure she'd be around then. My theory is that she knew then something might be wrong."

Gilbert scandalously wrapped his arms around Anne, drawing her so tight to him she could rest her head on his shoulder.

"Gilbert, what's wrong with Rachel?" Anne whispered.

"She has a stomach tumor," Gilbert said. "It's interfering with her appetite and she feels full much too quickly when she does eat."

Sniffing, "Can you heal her, Gil?"

"Yes," Gilbert said, "I think I can, but how? Do you think we should tell her? I have to touch her belly to do it."

"I don't see a way around it. I thought about it a little bit and I almost think it would be better to be upfront with her than to try and do it in secret."

The music ended and they had to stop talking. Anne needed to switch partners if she was ever going to complete all her requests. Since Marcus and Ella were also on the dance floor, the men traded with each other as the maestro cued the band's next song.

Gilbert could not see Ella's curtsy to him since her dress was a bulky hoop skirt. He only saw the bob of her head indicating he should bow. He was very surprised to learn that she was an excellent dancer and the cumbersome outfit she wore did not hamper their movement. She was a better dancer than Anne.

He had a harder time starting a conversation. "You dance well, Miss Hammond," Gilbert offered.

"Thank you, it was Anne that taught me actually. That was so long ago I scarcely believe I can still do it."

It was as if she handed him a missing puzzle piece to Anne's past. He chuckled as the picture became whole.

"Why is it funny?" Ella asked him.

"Anne always wants to lead," Gilbert said. "It took me forever to get her to let me do it. I now know why."

"What, she didn't tell you that she knows the man's part?"

Gilbert shook his head. "She did not, but truthfully, she doesn't talk much about her time with your family."

Ella thought before speaking, "We weren't an easy family, I'm sure. There were three sets of twins among us, but I'm glad there's no lasting damage."

"What do you mean?" He had heard a note of concern embedded in her word choice.

"Oh, nothing I suppose. She was always such a flighty, imaginative girl. Mother worked her hard. We had a barrister bookcase with glass doors in our house and Anne used to talk to her reflection in it. It sort of scared me, to be honest."

"How old were you?" Gilbert wanted to know more.

"I was old enough to think it queer," Ella looked at Marcus and Anne who were dancing and talking easily twenty feet away. "But, she's quite made up for it now. She's lovely, so much so I still have a hard time believing her luck! She really did start at the bottom."

"Anne has always been good at making her own luck!"

Ella and Gilbert stopped dancing as the music finished its cadence. Gilbert turned his head to find Anne and Marcus standing to applaud the musicians.

"Thank you for the dance," Ella said.

"You're welcomed."

* * *

"May I cut in Gil?" Eugene said to them later on in the program, the music was winding down for a new song. "I do believe I am on Miss Shirley's dance card. You've already stolen that precious award from my more deserving hands, the least you can do is let me dance with your lovely Miss Shirley."

"Sure," Gilbert said. "I don't suppose you know how, Old Man? You're not the lightest fellow on your feet. I've seen you fall up a flight of stairs." It was true, Eugene was generally known as a klutz.

"And by your own example, I am quite light on my feet. Most people fall down, but I defy gravity. Just call me twinkle toes." Eugene pushed his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. "I think I'll manage just fine, I was married to a Summerside debutante after all."

"Oh dear," Anne said as Gilbert excused himself. She put her hand into Eugene's and rested her other on his shoulder. The music started, another waltz. "I don't suppose your wife was a Pringle, was she?"

"How'd you know?"

"I know a lot about the Pringles," Anne said. "They are quite single-minded as a lot."

"Victoria's family can be quite vicious," Eugene said. "I remember, but I have it on good authority that the new high school principal has them in her pocket now."

Anne worried that the man she was dancing with had read her letters to Gilbert. "How do you know about my troubles?"

"Don't be suspicious," Eugene answered and the pace quickened. Anne kept up, but it cut her ability to speak. "Victoria's sister writes to me once and a while. I asked her for her opinion about you. You can't expect me to believe that you're as perfect as Gilbert lets on. He speaks of you as if you were a piece of fine art or lost work of Shakespeare."

"What did your sister-in-law say," Anne asked, feeling a little bit flushed at Gilbert's compliments. "I'd like to know."

"She wrote recently to say that you're extremely clever and that they had greatly underestimated you. I don't suppose you can explain that one, can you?"

Anne tied her mouth into a neat bow and tossed it over her shoulder, "I can explain if I choose to, and I choose not to."

"I see," Eugene answered. "Well, it's lucky for you that I'm not that curious about the Pringles, my sister-in-law is though."

"Just who is your sister-in-law? Or is this bait?"

"Bait it is."

"No deal, I am not going to fish," Anne said, resolved to keep her tiny bit of knowledge on Captain Myron Pringle to herself.

"I see. I failed to find a compromise."

"On the subject of Pringles, we are better off to change it."

"What do you suggest?"

"You've recently published, what did you write on?"

Eugene gave Anne a judging look, trying to determine the level of frankness he could be with Anne. "I have a great interest in women's health, especially obstetrics. You see, my lovely wife died giving birth, our child died too. I can't rest until I do something to avenge their lives, even if it means becoming a specialist in the area."

"I'm sorry for your loss, Eugene," Anne replied. "You honor them every day by trying to change things."

"Yes, we're still in the dark ages regarding childbirth and women's health," he said. "I suppose you're not as interested as I am in the topic."

"Well, I dunno about that," Anne said. "I do a good impression of a female."

Eugene laughed, "Well, I don't. Still, I don't want mothers, sisters, and wives to die just because they loved a man. It's horribly selfish to treat women as second class citizens in modern times. There's no reason for it. If anything I have learned is that most maternal deaths can be prevented. Most of them, still not quite all. Dreaded eclampsia."

"Is that what took your wife?" Anne asked as the dance ended.

"No, she had other complications and the midwife tried to help but only made things worse," Eugene shook his head. "I'm sorry, I've become bad company now."

"Oh, I don't think so," Anne answered. "I think you're quite inspiring in your own way. I'd like to read what you have written if you don't mind."

"I'll make sure Gilbert has copies to send to you."

"Thank you, Mr. Felder!"

"You're welcomed."

Anne felt that Mr. Felder was right, there was a lot of misconception about women's health. She tried not to think too hard about Diana as she returned to the table to sit next to Mrs. Lynde. Anne received her recent letter. She reported that she had lost the baby. Diana struggled to write the few sentences she did, her handwriting, usually so precise and clean was the very opposite. Diana added that this was the second miscarriage she's had. The first barely registered for what it was, it was so early in their marriage. This last one though really cut to the core. Fred had placed blame on her.

* * *

Gilbert walked through the hotel's ground floor venturing beyond the lobby and the alcoves whilst Anne and Eugene danced. His mind was overwrought with thoughts of how to heal Mrs. Lynde. Anne's suggestion that they tell her outright scared him. Yes, he could believe she would try her best to keep the legacy secret, but he also knew her limitations. She was so outspoken, so inflexible, and so certain that her perspective was the only perspective that mattered, it felt like a risk no insurer could underwrite. The question was, how long would she stick to it? He guessed not long at all. Gilbert needed to talk with his family about healing her first. He owed them that. His decision would affect them as well and there was no urgency, yet.

So far the list of people that knew he had his powers or had a good idea about them was growing leaps and bounds: Anne and probably Marilla, Josie and Gertie, and Diana, or so Anne thought. He even wondered if Dr. Spencer knew. Adding Mrs. Lynde in that mix was crazy foolish. Yet, it wasn't worth her life. Today taught him that. Little Suzette's life was not for nothing.

Gilbert paced down the cross hallway, seeing a commotion at the end. He realized that he was near the side entrance that Anne wanted to use as a short cut. A couple of medical students and a professor were hanging around, waiting. Soon, the door opened, and a few ladies of the night entered. Prostitutes. He promptly turned himself away from the business exchange being made. He didn't want to witness it. He didn't want to seem interested in their enterprise in any fashion.

His about-face put him into proximity with Marcus who was making his way to the crowd. It had been Marcus that had probed Gilbert about his participation in the venture in the first place.

"Not too late Gilbert," he said. "I'm sure there's a lady for you if you want one."

"We've been through this," Gilbert said. "I don't understand you, doesn't Ella mean anything to you? How can you hurt her like this?"

"What she doesn't know won't hurt her."

Gilbert was disappointed. Ella wasn't lithe like Anne or as becoming or as smart, but underneath her rougher exterior, she'd exhibited a level of decency that towered over her fellow.

Responding to Gilbert's silent admonishment, Marcus added, "You're such an uptight fool. My suggestion is to take advantage of Anne soon and you'll understand more fully how a man thinks."

Gilbert was left unable to move as Marcus brushed past him, unapologetically towards the company of prostitutes. He couldn't stop his actions or make him feel ashamed. Thinking back to his father's advice when handling tough situations, he tried to figure out where he could make the most difference. Should he try and advise her to break their engagement? No, he wouldn't do that. He didn't know her well enough. He thought of her twin brother, Hugo, who was her chaperone. Gilbert decided he should say something to him, and let him decide.

 **to be continued**


	7. You Amaze Me

Timeline - _Anne of Windy Poplars, The First Year._ This chapter occurs before chapter 8.

* * *

 **Chapter 7: You Amaze Me**

The next day three weary-eyed passengers; Anne Shirley, Mrs. Rachel Lynde and Gilbert Blythe, boarded a small, yellow, and sea-salt crusted ferry named _Tick-Tock._ The 'Double T' as she was called by the local captains would take them to Charlottetown. From there they would take the train back to Carmody, and Gilbert's father and Davy Keith would fetch them home. The journey wouldn't be as long as it would feel, for this unlikely band of travelers also had to contend with sheer exhaustion and horrendous cold. The weather was unfit for man and beast, yet all three of them were head-strong enough to persevere. They wanted to be home for Christmas. So they mustered through their itinerary without complaint.

Anne Shirley led the three up an uncertain gangplank. One gray-mitten hand held her hat: the other hand steadied their elder, Mrs. Lynde. Gilbert followed behind, making sure that Mrs. Lynde did not slip on the wet surface of the narrow bridge. The ocean was upset, bubbling as if it were a boil. The icy water sprayed upwards from choppy waves making their feet victims of a frigid baptism. The little ship bobbed. Gilbert looked back to the steady mooring, wondering if they should return to the hotel. The women were not as unsure. They strode quickly forward. Once embarked, Mrs. Lynde announced her intention to stay below and Gilbert followed her downstairs in agreement.

He was quite relieved to discover it was very warm below the deck. There were three large furnaces roaring to combat the weather and a food stand to soothe anxious passengers with peanuts and hot tea. Mrs. Lynde dropped herself into the care of a large, orange upholstered chair determined to not move a muscle. She too scanned the room and frowned when she counted only two of their gang.

"Gilbert Blythe," Mrs. Lynde started on him, "Where did Anne go? Don't tell me she's determined to stay on deck?"

"She's probably saying goodbye to Kingsport," Gilbert guessed.

Anne was miffed with him over his reported conversation with Hugo Hammond. Her refusal to go below deck was taken it a bit far. He thought she would have gotten over it by now.

Mrs. Lynde shook her head as her mind imposed the vision of Anne standing next to the ship's railing, waving adieu to the city and Redmond College. "You better get her down here before she freezes to death," Mrs. Lynde ordered. "She has no sense about these things."

Gilbert re-adjusted his black hat and scarf as he scaled the wooden stairs, bracing himself for a blast of arctic air. Anne was easy to spot, she was the only woman brave enough to bear the sub-zero chill. She stood near the railing on the starboard side and leaned over to watch the waves splash up on the faded yellow hull of the ship. Gilbert crept up next to her, purposefully putting himself in the wind, blocking its cruel attack on Anne.

"There's nothing you can say that will move me away from this spot," Anne warned through rattling teeth. "I don't care how cold it is, and you made a mistake last night."

"Anne," Gilbert said, trying his darnedest to not let her know she could get so under his skin. "I'm glad you're being stubborn right now. It will be easier to talk to you about Mrs. Lynde when you won't come downstairs."

Anne turned her head towards him, registering an interest in his thoughts, her gray eyes were large and her lashes laden with frost. She waited. Sometimes she got better answers when she refused to even ask questions.

"My uncle, actually, my great uncle, Dr. David Blythe has a practice near Four Winds Harbor. He's..." Gilbert quickly checked for nearby listeners, "….a healer like me. Now, he's not as powerful as I am, but, he does still have some of that old juice left. What do you think if we get Mrs. Lynde to him, and I assist if needed?"

Anne's breath frosted white between them as she exhaled, "If you can convince her to see him, that _might_ work." She jammed her hands into her coat pockets. "But you'll have your work cut out for you I'm afraid. She can be quite unmovable once her mind is set."

"Will you come downstairs with me and help?" Gilbert asked. "Please?"

Anne showed him her profile, "No. Not until I feel I have permission from the sea to do so. It's speaking to me, in its strange way. I wonder if I am descended from mariners? It's like it knows my own language. And it's not so bad out here. I'm not the only one braving the elements you know."

Gilbert widened his perspective to incorporate the few ship-hands at work. He wondered how anyone could make seafaring a career, especially in their harsh climate. The men seemed under-dressed in the icy wind and they worked without gloves. Their hands were bright red with cold and covered with callouses and abrasions. Just looking at them work sent shivers down his spine. To Gilbert, there was nothing endearing about the seaman's way of life some islanders felt so compelled to live.

"Anne, don't be silly. It's freezing up here. It's no place for a lady," He insisted.

Anne stubbornly stayed put just as she warned. Giving up for the moment, but not for the trip, Gilbert returned downstairs. He was glad to be out of the wind and his nose started to run as his body warmed. At the small kiosk, he purchased two cups of piping hot tea.

"I see you failed to bring Anne down," Mrs. Lynde said. "Well, she's stubborn alright! How long did it take her to forgive you for calling her 'Carrots' again? What was it, five years?"

Gilbert shrugged. He and Anne for the rest of their lives would be called to remember that infamous day which featured Anne's slate and his hard head. He handed Mrs. Lynde an unsolicited cup of hot tea with a remark to point out her contrary personality. "And the pot says the kettle's black."

It took a moment for Mrs. Lynde to register his commentary. She glowered at him as he confirmed her understanding. "Oh, I am not _that_ stubborn," Mrs. Lynde said exasperatedly. "I can be persuaded to change my mind if there's a good argument behind it."

" _Really?_ " Gilbert said as he breathed in the tea's steam. The fragrance of bergamot helped open his sinuses and his face thawed. "Will you let me ask you something then?"

"About Anne?" Mrs. Lynde grinned, hoping she was about to receive a Gilbert inspired, romantic reflection of his betrothed.

"No, not about Anne. About you of course."

"I supposed you can ask me, but I don't promise to answer."

"Mrs. Lynde, I know you're sick," Mrs. Lynde's expressed surprise mixed with worry, and then shame as she saw his face grow concerned. "It's your right to not take care of yourself, you know. But if you think you're fooling me, Marilla or Anne, you're wrong. I don't need to be a medical student to see you're losing weight much too quickly." Gilbert brought his own cup to his lips and continued to watch her react.

Mrs. Lynde scowled back and her brown eyes flamed in defiance. She admitted her condition to Gilbert by not arguing with him over it but said, "There's nothing to be done. I've had a long life, Gilbert Blythe. I've seen this before, in my family and in others."

"You can't possibly know what's wrong with you unless you've seen a doctor," Gilbert asked. "Have you seen a doctor? Or are you playing doctor, making assumptions that could be wildly wrong."

Mrs. Lynde put her cup of tea down. She was slower to return his gaze. It pained her to continue her thoughts aloud. "I've been praying about this for a long time and I feel certain this is God's hand. It's Providence calling me home, little by little. And if that's the case, there's nothing a doctor can do to stop it."

"Well, and this is just my opinion, Mrs. Lynde; I think you owe it to yourself, and your children, to know the truth. You just have your instinct, and sometimes, instincts, they can mislead you. So, I'm asking you please, will you let me help you?"

"How?" Mrs. Lynde verbally tossed back with bold vibrato, "Being at medical school for one term hardly makes you qualified."

"Yes, you're right," Gilbert admitted. "I'm not a doctor, yet, but I do know more about medicine than you do. If I see value in going to a physician, why can't you? I know for a fact that if it were someone else sick, you'd be all over them to go."

"You've got me there," Mrs. Lynde confirmed. "I would be on the warpath if it were Marilla, but..."

"No buts about it," Gilbert interrupted. "You just agreed with me. Now, why is something good enough for Marilla and not good enough for you?"

"I guess I don't want others to know," Mrs. Lynde said. "Avonlea gossip can be cruel."

"I promise to be discreet. I give you my word, but just say yes, let me help."

"If it means so much to you, Gilbert." Mrs. Lynde drank the rest of her cup. "I get to be your first patient?"

"Well, sure," Gilbert hid his relief. "Under the supervision of my uncle, Dr. David Blythe, I'll be glad to help you."

* * *

Atop deck, Anne Shirley stood and stared over the iron railing into the distance trying to see the shoreline of Prince Edward Island. She knew she was being sentimental, for she had only been off the island for a day, but she was determined to keep her solemn pledge that she would always greet her adoptive homeland as a friend. She couldn't do that from below. She had to behold the land the loved her back.

She thought she could see the slightest break in monotony along the horizon when she heard Gilbert walk behind her.

"Mrs. Lynde is resting downstairs Anne," Gilbert said, putting his hand on her shoulder and standing next to her. "You should be below deck too, this wind is too sharp."

Anne looked at his hand on her shoulder. She was not done being upset with him yet. "Gilbert Blythe, you amaze me sometimes." She shrugged off his hand.

Gilbert also got a bit defensive, raising his hands up but not touching her, saying, "There was nothing else to do but tell him."

"I suppose," Anne said. "I agree you saved them a lot of pain in the future."

"You mean you're mad at me even when you agree with me?!" Gilbert said. "I'm so confused. You said it was a mistake."

Anne's forehead creased, "I don't know if 'mistake' is the right word anymore. I can't say you made a mistake, exactly, but I do think you didn't put enough thought into your decision to inform Hugo of Marcus' activities. 'Blunder' is a better word." Anne wrapped her gray scarf tighter around her face as the wind picked up. "I think that's why I'm upset with you. You have to look at the _entire_ picture, Gil. I don't think you did."

Gilbert leaned on the iron railing and he let the wind capture the brown wisps of his curls that stuck out from under his hat.

"If you were Ella, wouldn't you want to know?" He thought for sure Ella would want to know. "How can she plan a future for herself if she doesn't know? Something like that is going to come out eventually-either when an illegitimate child or even with a social disease. This way she has a chance to steer clear."

"Gil, I don't think she has much of a choice though. Perhaps ignorance is bliss in this case. Didn't you listen to the things she was telling us at dinner? She's marrying into her best friend's family. A family that helped her and her twin when they probably had nowhere else to go. How can she refuse him or his terms? For Ella, being married to a doctor probably sounds pretty secure, even if it means putting up with Marcus' dalliances. Where would she go if without them? Trust me on this, you can only be hungry so long before you just don't care."

Gilbert was stunned at Anne's explanation. Feebly, he said, "I just thought it was the chivalrous thing to do. The right thing to do. Even with the weight you've added, I still think it was the right choice, but you do have a good argument."

"Luckily you told Hugo and not Ella directly. That was wise. Hugo should be able to read her situation a lot better than you or I."

"Next time, I'll talk with you," Gilbert resolved. "I swear. You can always think of something I can't. It's one of the reasons why I love you. You challenge me, but please don't be mad at me for it, not anymore."

"I'm just plain too cold to stay vexed with you, Gil. And even if I were still mad, I am more than capable of loving you in spite of it."

Anne started to shiver and Gilbert wrapped himself around her to keep her warm. Gilbert found Anne's complete lack of self-awareness as she nestled in his arms heart-warming. Eventually, he asked, "Will you now come downstairs with me? I can't have you sick. And, I got Mrs. Lynde to agree to go with me and see my uncle."

* * *

They all warmed up on the train which helped them survive the last leg of their travels, for the sleigh ride back home from Carmody was treacherous. The wind was strong enough to pick up snowpack and make new drifts. They had to drive straight into the whirling ice to get to Avonlea. Once sheltered, Anne and Mrs. Lynde stood like concrete statues near the oak front door. Their arms extended and teeth chattering away. Marilla and Dora peeled off their ice-filled wraps and dragged them to the heat of the parlor's fire. Meanwhile, Davy and Gilbert unloaded Anne's and Mrs. Lynde's trunks from Mr. Blythe's sleigh as their hired man drove the team into the protection of the barn.

Davy came in and received no help from with his wraps. He sat on the bench and leaned forward to remove his warm work boots as Gilbert stuck his head inside and called for Anne.

Her nose and cheeks were a merry crimson now as she came out of the parlor back to the foyer. She had let her hair down, and it fell gracefully over her shoulder. She laughed at Gil's snow-covered exterior, was only able to recognize his voice, and thought of how harrowing a journey they had all survived.

"Give me some heat," he said, approaching her for a kiss like a love-starved snow monster.

Poor Davy Keith received quite the education in kissing as he was trapped between the door and the engaged couple. Anne initially only registered how thoroughly cold Gilbert was as the snow flaked off of him and on to her warmer skin. When she heard Davy uncomfortably shuffle nearby, Anne remembered how she promised Marilla to exercise more restraint before the twins. But, oh goodness! She had forgotten to tell Gilbert.

"Gilbert, we're not alone!" Anne said, rubbing his chin to stop him. She could taste a faint hint of his peppermint.

Gilbert stopped trying to kiss Anne at the sight of Davy on the bench. The young sir was blushing horribly for them both. His eyes were bigger than Anne's! At last, he was able to turn his head away. "Gilbert, I think your Dad is calling for you."

"Then that was a kiss definitely stolen," Gilbert said. "I need to go, Dad's waiting! Tomorrow?"

"Sure! Be safe Gil!" Anne said as she stood and waved him off.

After Anne closed the door and re-positioned its draft stopper, she turned to Davy, who was busy putting his coat on his peg.

"Davy," Anne whispered. "Would you do me a favor and not mention what you saw to Marilla..or Mrs. Lynde?"

"Can that be my Christmas present to you and Gilbert?" Davy asked back. His blond hair was rumpled from his knitted hat. He still seemed distracted.

"Davy, you don't have to give me anything for Christmas, but if you could keep quiet about what you just saw, I would be most grateful," Anne said.

"Anne?" Davy said, raising his eyebrows so high that Anne thought Davy might be disfigured. "Do all boys kiss girls like that?" He then turned his worried eyes towards the parlor, where Dora, Marilla, and Mrs. Lynde talked. His concerned tone confused Anne.

Ambiguously Anne explained, "Only if the girl is lucky." And then she couldn't hide her smile. "I'm very lucky, you know."

Davy seemed to be more agitated now. "But you're older. A lot older than Dora, so that makes it alright."

Anne now started to feel uneasy. What did Dora have to do with this? She was about to ask him.

Seeing Anne's question coming, he changed the subject, adopting a more boyish cheer, "D'you know the Blythe's sent us a dozen oranges for Christmas! Marilla made Dora and me save them for tonight."

* * *

Helen and Gilbert knocked on Green Gables' door the next mid-morning. Helen was feeling pretty down, and Gilbert was keeping her company. They had walked over from the Blythe homestead leaving a path of footsteps in the crunchy snow drifts. The cold snap was over, the wind was still, and the temperature almost balmy in comparison to the day before. Gilbert informed Anne how the Haunted Wood was returning to life as Helen found herself listening at the kitchen table, her head supported by her hand. He painted a pretty picture of small animals scampering out from their cozy dens and foraging for food, finding only snow where-ever they looked.

Anne baked for Christmas day. She imagined how lovely the tiny icicles hung from the branches and how frosted the dark brown tree trunks were. She felt sorry for the ferns and heather that nestled in natural wallows under layers of snow. The frozen bed would one day melt and they would spring back. She wanted to go outside and see for herself but she was stuck making sweets in her big yellow apron with the large pockets and frilly ruffles.

"Where is everyone?" Helen asked. "I thought you had people filled to the brim here."

"Everyone is out and about, just like the woodland creatures, trying to get things done while the weather is good. Marilla and Mrs. Lynde are at a Ladies' Aid meeting. No doubt Mrs. Lynde will talk about the dance to no end." Looking to Gilbert, "I wonder what things we'll hear second and third hand? Davy's supposed to be clearing drifts off the roofs of the outbuildings, and I think Dora is with Minnie May skating on the Lake of Shining Waters. Today is a perfect day to strap on blades and whirl like ballerinas on ice."

"So, you're alone then?" Helen said, looking back to her cousin and then to Anne. "Would you like me to get lost for an hour?"

Anne grinned at the thought of possible impropriety between herself and Gilbert. "I've got too much going on here with these sugar cookies and pies. We've seen quite a bit of each other these last two days. I think I might be sick of him." She said, giving him a small wink.

Gilbert went over to Anne and started pulling hairpins from her bun, remembering how pretty it was when he kissed her goodbye last night. "Sick..did you say? It's a good thing I'm going into medicine then." Anne rounded on him as her long red braids fell down from her head. "Hello, Carrots!"

She was mad for about two seconds, and then she just wanted to play back in response to his provocation. "I wish you'd stop that," Anne jested as she tried to grab her hairpins back. Gilbert teased her further, holding them up high and out of her reach. Anne was not above giving him a bit of chase in pursuit of her belongings. Helen cleared her throat and gave them a disapproving look with her piercing blue eyes. Reluctantly, Gilbert allowed Anne to catch him, which led to a quick apology, and an equally quick kiss.

Anne started to rework her braids back into its neat pile. Helen's eyes were a bit misty now and Anne wondered what she might have done to have upset her. Was it their display of affection?

"Oh, yes, I supposed it is that," Helen answered Anne before she could ask. "And then's there the fact that my powers are slipping on me. Lynn barely remembers me anymore. She loves her baby and she loves her husband and she loves her new life. I'm so sad it's causing my abilities to break."

Anne wiped her hands with a towel. "I'm sorry Helen." Anne had no idea what else to say.

"Well, since we're on the subject of magic," Gilbert cut in. "Uncle Dave will be in Avonlea tomorrow and the next day for Christmas, and I thought, we could heal Mrs. Lynde then. Does Mrs. Lynde have plans away?"

Anne shrugged.

"She doesn't know," Helen interpreted.

"Yeah, I figured that out," Gilbert chuckled. "That's really annoying, you know."

"I'll explain to Marilla. Bring him by for tea," Anne suggested as she walked backward.

"Anne, watch where you're going!" Helen suddenly warned.

Anne turned awkwardly and realized that she was closer to the hot stove than she thought. She tried to change her momentum but was unsuccessful as she fell, her bare hand slapping down on the hot cooking surface. Her skin sizzled. Gilbert and Helen watched in horror as Anne slumped on her side. She groaned in agony clutching her blistering hand.

Gilbert begged Anne to show him, and when she did, he had just barely touched it when he felt the magical release that would heal it. It was a strange, calming feeling that absolved Anne from so much pain, the sudden relief brought about more soft tears. Gilbert kept his hand over hers, and finally, Anne looked at it and saw it was fine. She wiped her eyes dry with the back of it.

"Thank God you were here," Anne said getting up, with a little help from Gil. "Thank you."

She was still shaking from the experience, blown away from the strangeness of being healed supernaturally. There were still moments where Anne was certain she would never get used to the fact that Gilbert had these powers. She had those uncertain thoughts privately, never in front of him until that moment. As a result, her face looked more frightened than thankful. She instantly regretted what her countenance revealed, for she saw the hurt on Gilbert's face. She was sorry, but she was human too.

Helen sighed and Gilbert was disappointed, even though he understood she was trying valiantly to walk his reality without hesitation. They had never really talked about it since that fateful day last fall when he told her about being a Blythe.

"Can I ask you two something about your magic?" Anne asked. "Maybe it will feel less mysterious if I start asking you questions. I've been wondering for a while now. Is there a reason why you Helen, are just a seer and you Gilbert, are just a healer? Gil, I know you said you could do more when you're little."

Gilbert deferred to Helen who grew up with more magical guidance, her father, after all, could bi-locate. She explained, "You're stronger when you're little, so you can do more, but once you start sensing your talents, you develop a taste—so to speak, for what you like. I suppose if I really, really wanted to, I could heal someone, but it would be horribly hard because my magical muscles are geared in one direction now. It's a completely different focus."

Anne looked at Gilbert and he nodded in agreement. "I chose to heal though. I've heard Mother say again and again how I used to levitate things in the house, and for a long time, our grandparents said I had psychokinesis. But what good is bending spoons when my father was so sick and my mother hated that ability. So I just focused on healing and it stuck. I don't think I could do anything else, except that old trick, Granddad showed us."

Helen almost squealed as she laughed outright. "Oh, Grandfather and his shadow collection! How he used to torture us with the horrors in that box!" And even Gilbert had to chuckle.

"I've been thinking a lot about why my powers came back Anne," Gilbert continued. "I know it's because of you. I've admitted that for a while, but I think, maybe it's because you're an orphan, you have a connection to the other side of the veil, where our energies derive, and that helped."

"A lot of people have that," Anne said reasonably. It was probably the only reasonable statement of the last few minutes. "You don't need to be an orphan to have lost loved ones."

"Well, I don't know what it is then," Gilbert said. "What do you think, Helen?"

"I think you'll drive yourself insane trying to put logic into the illogical. When will Miss Cuthbert and Mrs. Lynde be back? The Christmas elves have some questions."

"Pretty soon, I think," Anne answered, as she arranged the perfectly round sugar cookies out on clean kitchen towels. Gilbert helped himself to one as Anne checked the apple pies cooling by the window.

From above they heard a thump which brought down some dust from the high ceiling. Anne panicked to cover the food. Gilbert quizzically stuck his head out the side door and saw a ladder wedged up against the gable end of the house.

"I think Davy is on the roof," Gilbert said back to the ladies.

"Marilla does not want him up there," Anne stated. "He was just supposed to clear the roofs of the outbuildings; mainly the potato cribs and coops. Does he have a rope? The pitch is steep."

Gilbert went for his wraps. Anne and Helen heard the sound of more footsteps above and then heavier steps when Gilbert joined him. Then from the corner of her eye, Anne saw Marilla's sleigh pull up to the house. Why was it nothing happened for the longest time and then suddenly everything happened in one great commotion? She had to get Davy and Gilbert off the roof. Marilla was pointing up at them and looking rather cross when Anne appeared outside. Anne threw her hands up in the air in her "what now" pose miming her intention to call them down.

Mrs. Lynde extracted herself from the sleigh and joined Anne as they started to bark upwards at the boys. Mrs. Lynde was properly dressed to be outside. She had on her best coat with fur trimmings. Anne hadn't bothered for she meant to go in after making her admonishments.

"Davy! Gilbert! Please come down now," Anne said.

Gilbert leaned over the ledge and looked down at Anne. Anne stepped forward closer to the house, to hear him better.

"Just a second, there's a rather big branch up here Davy's trying to pull down. It's covered in snow and ice."

Anne licked her dry lips and they chapped in the winter breeze. She stared forward at the house's green siding. She heard Mrs. Lynde approaching, she too looked up and shouted absurdly. "Just leave it, let it warm up more before removing it!"

"Watch out!" Gilbert said.

Anne looked up again to see a bird take sudden flight. The edge of the roof began to shift. There was a rumbling of movement, like a scraping of a knife on a plate. Before she knew it an avalanche of snow, ice and branch came down on her and Mrs. Lynde. She heard herself make a strange noise. A sound that hit Gilbert's ears with much grief. The last thing she saw was the odd shape of Mrs. Lynde collapsing before the lights went out.

 **to be continued**


	8. His Stupid Hands

Timeline - _Anne of Windy Poplars, The First Year._ This chapter occurs before chapter 8.

* * *

 **Chapter 8: His Stupid Hands**

The sound of the snow and ice shifting off the roof replayed in Anne's head over and over again. It was such a sudden and harsh sound, but very familiar too. _Scrape. Scrape._ She followed the annoying sound to the last time she had heard it so persistently. Depression and sadness overwhelmed her as the memory engulfed and dragged her backward in time. She was sixteen and Marilla let her put her hair up for the service. Matthew had died. The first man that had ever cared for her was gone.

Matthew's funeral had brought more folk to Green Gables than expected. She knew it was rude of her to leave the parlor of mourners, but it would have been more upsetting for them to see her come loose at the seams and cry inconsolably. She sought solitude from the crowd in the pantry where she scraped the plates clean of leftover funeral cake and cookies. Marilla was functioning better. Cool and composed, nothing could touch Miss Cuthbert, or so her guests thought. Anne heard Marilla's steady, unaffected voice from a comforting distance as she worked.

She felt fortunate that there were so many plates as she dispassionately ran the back of her knife over them for the slop bucket. _Scrape. Scrape._ She tried not to see the Blythes enter the parlor. Gilbert's father and mother tried to comfort Marilla. Gilbert asked where Anne might be.

Anne held back tears and thought, "No, not today. I can't deal with _him_ today."

Gilbert Blythe looked at her when he wandered too close to the pantry. Anne could feel the weight of his hazel eyes. He said nothing but Anne knew he was begging for her attention. He was making her heart race as he waited for her to return his gaze, and it was getting more difficult not to by the second. It was the one time in her life she really wanted to return his stare, to show him she wasn't cowed, but she couldn't risk it. She knew that his face would be perfectly composed with just the right amount of concern; and just the right amount of wonder; and just the right amount of love. If she looked at him, she would cry. She knew it! And what would he do? They weren't friends, but he wasn't her enemy either, not really. That had been her invention, her attempt to scare him off. Gilbert understood her like no other. They were kindred.

He stood there and waited, his hat in his stupid hands. If she cried, he would hug her. She just knew he would. He would wrap his arms around her, and hold her close, and make the ache go away. And then she would accept all the love he had for her and lose herself to _him_. Whatever they were as children would be over and they'd be something different henceforth, something enviable. Anne wasn't ready for that yet. _Why didn't he understand?_

Luckily, Diana Barry saved her from the travesty of accepting his sympathy. She pulled him away and back into the parlor, hard. Anne kept her head down and stared at the plates that had to be washed. A faucet of tears was dripping onto them. Her pride was no help. She looked back to the spot where he had stood certain of only one thing.

He could have helped her heal.

* * *

Anne didn't know how long she was out when she began to stir. Her head hurt terribly and the tiny bit of candlelight that she saw when she cracked her eyelids open intensified the pain. She wanted to sit up but just trying to move caused her stomach to rumble and flip. She heard Marilla softly say, "Lie still, Anne! We're all so worried for you. You've been out for hours and hours."

Anne moved her hands down to her stomach and tried to hold its contains inside of her. The scraping noise she kept hearing over and over again was a branch on the window. Remembering that Snow Queen had been cut down last March, Anne asked, "Where am I?" She knew she wasn't in her room without needing to see.

"Gilbert carried you to the guest bedroom, Anne." She stroked Anne's brow carefully. In the darkness, she adjusted Anne's cover and by her shadowy outline and the soft complaints Anne made, Marilla knew she was trying her best not to wretch.

"Here you go dear," Marilla said as she placed the sick bowl into Anne's hands. "Best get it over with."

After Anne had finished Marilla rubbed her back. Anne slumped forward and exhibited some improvement. "What time is it again?"

"About two o'clock. You're probably thirsty. I'll go get you some water. Do you want to change into your nightgown?" Marilla picked up a garment that had been spread out on the foot of the bed. "I brought it downstairs hours ago, but I didn't want to disturb you. Gilbert said not to move you if at all possible."

Anne then noticed that her clothing was unbuttoned as she removed her arms from her gray blouse. Her corset was already off. "Who took off my corset?"

"Helen cut it off along a seam. She spent the rest of the afternoon mending it on my Singer," Marilla answered. "It was important that you could breathe and move unrestricted. Gilbert insisted that it be done." Marilla took the clothing Anne handed to her for the laundry.

Anne burrowed back into the pillows, feeling a million times better in fresh garments. "Where _is_ Gilbert?" She thought about the memory that resurfaced. She knew in her heart that Gilbert wanted to be with her.

"I sent him and Helen home," Marilla confessed. "He was determined to stay though, I almost had to get the rolling pin." Marilla chuckled but Anne did not. She read Anne's silence as a disappointment. "He's going to be a fine husband, Anne," and Marilla's voice cracked a bit with sweetness, "But I need to do this, to sit up with you, to help you. You're my little girl, Anne, and I need to know you need me still. You're not married yet."

Anne closed her eyes once more as she laid on her back and Marilla fetched Anne the promised water. Was Gilbert really so protective of her as to oust a doting Marilla Cuthbert from her side? Marilla wasn't one to mince words. Anne ached to know Marilla felt displaced. How could she not know there would always be a place in her heart for her, that no one could dislodge, not even Gilbert Blythe. It did not matter how keenly she felt Gil's longing to protect her as she hurt. She was being loved and cared for by the woman that raised her since age eleven. She told Marilla so and it was a long pause before Marilla could easily breathe again. Anne did not mean to damage her stoic countenance.

"Do you remember what happened?" Marilla asked as she placed a cool mug into Anne's hands. Anne sipped first, slowing, trying not to gulp. Her head still felt funny. She wanted to know why Gilbert hadn't healed her. Instantly, she knew that he had tried, but just couldn't do it. Anne placed her fingers behind her ear and felt the kiss Gil had left on the lump he couldn't quite cure.

"The snow from the roof fell on us. What happened after that?"

"Anne, it was pandemonium. I about died from a heart attack when I saw all that snow, ice and then that huge branch come down on you and Rachel. The pair of you were fainted dead away and Davy was jumping all over the place in a thirteen-year-old's panic. Imagine how much more surprised I was when Gilbert touched Rachel's exposed belly and _healed_ her. And then… well, you know how curious Rachel is. Helen and I were trying to keep her distracted as Gilbert tried unsuccessfully to heal you. Land's sake child! I have no more current wine in the house."

Worried-"Rachel doesn't know about Gilbert, does she? We were going to get her to his uncle and..."

"She doesn't have a clue which is why Gilbert is still going to bring Dr. Dave around. I'm sure he'll be checking in on you too." Marilla brushed the fine threads of red that grew from Anne's hairline back behind her ear. "But there's another young man that wants to see you first. If you feel up for it."

"Davy?"

"Yes," Marilla sniffed and stopped in the door frame. Her long shadow cast against the wall from the faint light of her candle. "Be kind to him, Anne. He was very frightened for you… and now he's fearful about Gilbert. It couldn't be helped, Anne, he knows."

* * *

"Come in, Davy," Anne heard herself calmly say. "Shut the door if you could, please. The light hurts my eyes."

Anne heard Davy backtrack his steps to close the door. The inky darkness helped Anne's headache so much. She sat up a tiny bit, plumping a pillow. Davy took a seat on the bed next to her. Anne reached up and touched his face, noticing how sad it was by the feel. Her thumb ran over his slightly wet cheek.

"You've been crying for me?" Anne was genuinely touched. "All this time? I'm not sure I deserve that."

"Oh, Anne!" Davy wailed, brushing her hand off. "I thought you and Mrs. Lynde were dead. I thought I _killed_ you. You were so far under the snow and Mrs. Lynde wasn't moving. And I knew it was my fault. I'm so sorry. Please forgive me. I promise never to get on the roof again."

"Hush Davy, hush," Anne finding his hand in the dark. "It's not your fault and I'm fine. Mrs. Lynde is fine too if I understand correctly. There's nothing to forgive here. It was an accident, Davy. It was only an accident."

Davy continued to hold Anne's hand, and with his other, he petted her with great contrition. He didn't know what else to say, but took comfort in Anne's warm grasp, knowing that she had woken up and seemed herself.

"Anne, I didn't know 'bout Gilbert's powers." Davy trembled out, and then he squeezed her hand as hard as he dared. "But I won't say anything to anyone, not Mrs. Lynde, not Milty, not even Dora."

"I'm glad to hear that. You show good judgment. Does Gilbert know you know?"

"Yes. He apologized so many times for not being able to heal you," Davy answered. "Miss Blythe tried to explain a little bit, but I was too upset to listen."

Anne returned Davy's squeeze. "Davy, Marilla seems to think you're _afraid_ of Gilbert now. Please tell me it's not so."

"I didn't _know_." Davy quietly defended himself. "He scared me because he was _so_ worried about you and he seemed... I dunno, almost like he had a fire inside him trying to get out. When he stopped trying, then he seemed normal, but for a few minutes, he wasn't. I'm not sure what I saw, but it wasn't...natural."

Anne blessed the darkness. Her own jaw had dropped as she thought over his telling. Davy had a tendency to exaggerate but she suspected that his description of Gilbert, trying everything he knew to help her, was spot on. She supposed the mixture of Gilbert's inability to heal her and his protective nature was a difficult sight to reconcile for his young eyes. Anne wasn't going to explain what he saw, she wasn't sure she could. Instead, she adopted a different approach for the young man.

"The other day I told you that you didn't need to give me a Christmas present. I've changed my mind on that. There is one thing I do need from you, and only you can give it to me." Anne softened her voice and slowed her speech so Davy would understand that she wasn't mad at him. "You do understand that Gilbert will be my husband. I need you to not be afraid because when we have children—you'll be Uncle Davy. Doesn't that sound lovely, Davy-boy? You'll be so good at it, I know it. So, how can you be the best uncle in the world and be afraid of Gilbert? Providence chose you and Dora to be our children's family. Don't give up just because things are a tiny bit different than you thought."

"What should I do Anne?" Davy asked. "I'll do anything to make you happy right now."

"Maybe try and see Gilbert as the brother you never had instead of 'that boy' that likes me. Gilbert doesn't know what a happiness it is to have a sibling. Will you do that? For us?"

"Yes," He brushed his face clear off new tears. He had always looked to Gilbert as his role model, given the very short supply of men at Green Gables, but now he had permission to regard him as such. Anne managed to change the way Davy saw Gilbert, and the change was just enough to help smooth out his fears.

* * *

"Hello Anne," Gilbert said as he entered the guest room. "How are you feeling?"

Anne was lounging on the already made bed in an old dress, her legs stretched out before her, her hair was neatly tied back in a very low ponytail. Gilbert could see that Marilla had let her have breakfast in bed earlier. The tray perched on the side table was ready to be collected. He left the door to the hallway ajar. Anne could hear the voices of other visitors. Gilbert's father and another man's voice that Anne only assumed belonged to Dr. Dave.

"Mr. Blythe," Anne started to say, "If I answered that question with the strictest honesty you may find my revelations shocking and brutal, so I will inform you that I am better this morning, no thanks to you."

Gilbert smiled uncontrollably as he took a spot next to her on the bed. He leaned in and kissed her with it. Anne immediately responded with a kiss back for him and she found her hand on his shoulder. He spoke with a sigh of relief, "You sound like you! And I like it." There was another kiss and then he reached around her ear and felt the lump. Anne flinched.

"Still tender?"

"A little. I get dizzy if I stand up for too long." Her gray eyes smarted from the poke. She gently took his outreached hand into hers and a blush of happiness spread as their palms clasped. Anne felt better already just to touch and look at him. She was also distracted by the fact that they had been kissing on a bed, but perhaps it escaped his notice. Anne started in on him with her questions, "I'm so curious, why you couldn't heal me? My burned hand seemed to be nothing."

"Well," Gilbert looked at her apologetically with his warm eyes. Had they really just kissed so easily on a bed? "I think it was because I healed your hand just before it happened. My magic was already inside of you, and recognized itself when I tried to heal you again, and so….'"

"Oh, that's right," Anne said. "You can't heal yourself."

"Or it could be because Mrs. Lynde's stomach issue was much more advanced than I thought. Healing her exhausted me some. I do have limits."

"Is everything working out with Mrs. Lynde?"

"Her healing was quite extensive but complete. Uncle Dave is doing a song and dance right now about how she needs to eat certain foods to cure her stomach." Gilbert chuckled again. "I didn't know that Uncle Dave's powers are specialized to _just_ stomach ailments. He didn't need me for _that_ , but she was quite bewildered for a while with the onslaught of debris you two got nailed under. So it was probably just as well that I did heal her. And I learned a lesson yesterday. I should have waited for everything to calm down before coming in as I did. But you were hurt and I didn't think. As a result, I scared Davy. I need to learn and slow down."

"Well, you _are_ relearning things, you haven't had powers for over a decade, so don't beat yourself up. As far as Davy goes, I've talked to him. I told him that he couldn't be afraid of you if he means to be the uncle of our children. He seemed to really like that idea. I told him he should see you as his brother now."

A small smile grew across Gilbert's chin and the smallest change in coloring was enough for Anne to know Gilbert was pleased. "So he's not afraid of me anymore?"

"He might be careful around you for a while. My guess is one day he'll forget or he'll have a situation where he won't care." Anne paused, "I wasn't going to tell you all that, but, this head injury of mine makes me more forthright than usual."

"You are a wonderful woman!" Gilbert glowed. He picked up her hand and kissed it.

She touched her sore lump again and winced. She almost batted her eyes when asking, "So, magical healer of mine, am I going to sport around this lump all day?"

"No," Gilbert said. "I'm sure I can do it now, enough time has lapsed."

"Well, get to it!"

"You know I have to touch it, Anne." He said reaching for the spot again. She shuddered. This time when he healed her she was able to look at him, to see if there was a change in his appearance, as he held her head with one hand, and carefully laid his other hand behind her ear. She wanted to know what Davy saw. Gilbert's face did change a little bit, but it wasn't frightening. He looked serene. A beautiful warmth came from his fingers. He held his hand there, and Anne wrapped her fingers around his wrist. She felt something pleasant yet foreign sink into her injury and repair it. It was not a dramatic change, not like before with her burned hand, but noticeable.

Gilbert removed his hand after a moment and broke their eye contact. "Well, there wasn't much left to heal, to be honest. You probably should still take it easy today and the next. No climbing trees, Anne! Not even Christmas trees."

* * *

Gilbert insisted that Anne have a quiet day, without book reading or fussing of any sort. They sat together and watched other people bustling around, preparing for the Christmas Eve prayer service. Dora was in a fright to finish her sewing and she asked for Anne's help much to Gilbert's displeasure. He took it from her, saying that he didn't want Anne to strain her eyes and get another headache now that she was recovered. So Dora sat next to Gilbert and showed him how to embroider white leaves on the trimmings of her costume much to Anne's amazement. Gilbert's large fingers were able to produce the tiniest, neatest stitches she had ever seen.

Anne excused herself to help Marilla in the kitchen with their mid-day meal, leaving the pair of them bent over linen in a rush to complete the finery in the name of Christmas cheer.

Dora coached Gilbert through the pattern, showing him the difference between a satin stitch, a running stitch, and a feather stitch. Gilbert noticed how focused Dora was, her hazel eyes unwavering from the embellishment. Gilbert turned his head back to his leaves and Dora whispered to herself, "I'm not timid."

Gilbert didn't reply at first but watched Dora turn a lovely shade of pink. "Your color says otherwise," Gilbert teased.

"Mrs. Lynde says I'm timid. I'm not. I'm just quiet." Dora pushed back one of her long braids and adjusted her posture.

Gilbert knotted an end of his white thread. "I agree, those are two different things."

Dora put her hoop down and sighed with great deliberation. She took a careful look at Gilbert. "Can I ask you something, Gilbert?" Dora said very quietly.

Gilbert felt his eyebrows go up. "Yes. I suppose so. You're going to be my sister-in-law one day."

Dora stared ahead for a moment, obviously screwing up some courage. "Why is Davy so protective of me, Gilbert?" Dora asked. "He's never cared before who I've talked to, girl or boy. Now he says I shouldn't talk to the boys."

Gilbert put down his embroidery hoop after cutting a thread. He didn't need to talk to Davy to understand. Dora was a young lady now, probably the first in her class to develop. He was careful with his wording though so as not to embarrass her. "You're the tallest girl in your class, right?"

"Yes,"

"Well, I'm guessing you're catching the eye of some of his friends... because you're so tall." Gilbert answered, "And he probably doesn't like that much."

Dora picked up her needle and returned to work. "Maybe."

Gilbert saw her purse her lips in thought.

"Do you want me to talk to him?" Gilbert offered.

"No, I just wanted to understand better. This sounds like _his_ problem, not mine."

* * *

Anne and Gilbert sat in a sunny kitchen as Marilla finished serving a late lunch. The three of them were fairly subdued, each of them shorted of a restful night's sleep. Davy, on the other hand, was a bundle of nerves as he ate the modest stew. He kept swinging his leg back and forth, brushing his foot along the hardwood floors. Dora had left to visit Minnie May Barry's and Mrs. Lynde had been collected by her son for a family reunion at the hotel in White Sands.

Anne caught her reflection in the glass cabinet doors and then diverted her eyes to the pies she made yesterday, still sitting next to the window covered with cheesecloth. She was regretting her decision to make Gilbert an apple pie as a Christmas present, although they had agreed to not spend money this year for gifts.

Davy glanced at Anne and connected her unflinching stare to the pies.

"Anne, don't you have a present for Gilbert?" Anne had told him that those pies were Gilbert's Christmas present and to leave them alone.

Marilla sat down in her chair across from Davy. "Yes Anne, the rest of us would like you to give your gift to Gilbert."

"You have a present for me?" Gilbert said as he pushed back his plate. He could see that Anne was being shy about it. Gilbert's own gift to Anne was at Orchard Slope where Diana Wright had promised him assistance with her expert hand. He was nervous about his own homespun present to her, but Diana saw merit in his plan.

Anne sighed loudly, thinking that those pies would bring her only humiliation.

"Oh, yes, but...I honestly don't know what I was thinking when I thought of making it. Maybe I wanted you to know that I can cook."

"Miss Cuthbert raised you, Anne. I know you are an excellent cook."

"Gilbert, call me Marilla," Marilla demanded, she had lost count of the number of times she had requested that boy to do so. Marilla sipped at her tea and then wryly spoke. "Do you want to go get it or should I?"

Anne stood, "No, I'll go and get it."

Gilbert watched Anne as she went to the window and lifted the cheesecloth off the pies. Both of them looked good, but Anne decided to show Gilbert the pie that had the best color. She was even surer now her pie was a sorry excuse of a Christmas gift. _For goodness' sake!_ The man grew up on an apple orchard. He had apple pie every night. He could recognize twenty different varieties of apples on taste alone. He didn't need an apple pie as a Christmas present any more than an Eskimo needed snow.

Eventually, she turned from the window and carried it to the table and put it in front of Gilbert. "I made you a pie, Gilbert. An apple pie. Merry Christmas." Her voice was flat and she felt lame to the core.

Gilbert looked at the pie with its nice brown crust and fluted edge, amazed at Anne's effort. His eyes showed approval when he looked at her, his smile was genuine. Anne Shirley made him an apple pie!

"Thank you, Darling," he said as he wrapped his arms around her narrow waist from his seated position. Anne returned to her chair and he continued to say, "You made me a pie!" teasing her about it.

"Stop it, Gil," she said. "It's a dumb gift, I don't know what I was thinking."

"It's not a dumb gift, especially when the money has run out," Marilla said. "I admit, it doesn't have your inventive flair, but I am sure Gilbert was not expecting it."

"I was not!" Gilbert agreed, "It does look good."

"I can't wait to try it." Davy chipped in, "Anne used those special apples she has stored in the cellar." Davy was forgetting he was afraid of Gilbert. "She was on the warpath when she found out Milty and I tried to steal from her stash."

Gilbert looked at Anne with intrigue. "Special apples? Do you have a new variety in your orchard?"

Davy answered Gilbert for her. "Anne only wishes that tree was in our orchard. She spent three weeks last summer walking back and forth to a wild apple tree in the woods. She wouldn't let anyone help her with it either."

Anne started to turn white and she felt goose bumps pop up as she shivered unexpectedly. Davy exposed a secret she wasn't sure she was ready to share. It was too personal. Her breathing became lighter and quicker as she felt his eyes latch onto her. This time, she looked at him, and his face had the perfect amount of wonder on it.

Marilla's eyes went soft as she watched Gilbert respond, understanding what Davy did not. Anne had told her that those apples had been from _their_ tree and she needed to keep them safe. Anne harvested its fruit as she waited for Gilbert to recover from typhoid, not knowing at times if he would even live for the next day. Marilla knew it was Anne's way of saying how much she loved and needed him.

"Anne-girl, this pie is made from the fruit of _our_ tree?" Gilbert's voice was slightly shaky.

"Yes, Gil."

With forced calm. "You walked two miles there and two miles back, every day, for weeks, for the apples, from _our_ tree?"

"Yes, Gil."

"Why Anne, that had to be incredibly difficult."

"Gil... I needed to do something to be with you. You were sick and I couldn't visit. It wasn't proper. We weren't engaged, we weren't even talking like we used to. But I just had to be with you. So I went to the one place where my memory of you was strongest and most vivid, and.." Anne gulped as she felt tears form in her eyes. She finished quickly before the sobs came: "I couldn't bear to let the apples rot on the ground, so I started picking them from the branches... until I had picked the tree clean." Anne started crying freely, recalling those days of uncertainty. She put her hand on his face as she relived that lonesome grief, "I thought you were dying and I thought I was dying too."

"Davy, let's go," Marilla said, standing quickly and motioning with her arms. Davy made a show as he allowed Marilla to remove him from his plate.

"But I want to try it!" Davy protested from an unseen distance.

That made Anne laugh for just a second before Gilbert threw his arms around Anne and hugged her, soothing that painful memory away. His embrace helped her heal from the gut-wrenching hollow, just as she always suspected it would.

"This is the most thoughtful gift I have ever received," Gilbert said as Anne continued to cling to him. He ran his fingers through her low ponytail and kissed her crying eyes. "We are meant to be together. Not just in this moment, but in the next, and in the hereafter too. Even in death, we _will_ be together, don't you think?"

"I believe that Gil. I do! I do! I do!" Anne rested her head on his strong shoulder. "I can never say 'til death do we part'. I will _always_ be with you."

 **to be continued**


	9. Christmas

Timeline - _Anne of Windy Poplars, The First Year._ This chapter occurs before chapter 8.

* * *

 **Chapter 9: Christmas**

Helen Blythe stared through the parlor's window at the road that passed the house and ended in Avonlea's graveyard. She thought she saw something move. The winter-bare trees flanked the path like totems, and she couldn't see who or what was passing. She leaned into the window to see better. Maybe it was nothing, maybe not. A flock of birds departed their perches as if to leave in a hurry. A cardinal, Lynn's favorite bird, came sweeping in and landed cleanly on the snowy ground. He fluffed his downy feathers before starting his song for an audience of one.

Helen listened and her blue eyes frosted over with emotions. When the final note stopped resounding, a quiet she had never known swallowed her whole.

Everyone else in the Blythe home had somewhere else to be that Christmas Eve morning. Helen had no strategy for the emptiness that gnawed. She wasn't used to feeling so singular, because of her supernatural abilities to perceive and see, she was _never_ alone. She used her powers to respond to the needs of her world, often before a soul could ask for help. Loneliness wasn't part of her life. She thought it could never be so.

This quietness meant something terrible had happened. Horrible thoughts lacerated Helen's heart. It was worse than their forced separation, worst than being abandoned. Their families forced shame on them for being peculiar, but they were not the oddities. How much more evil it was for father and mother to banished their daughter and take her livelihood. Helen's armor was chipped and kinked. She could honestly not take one more bruising.

 _Where was Lynn?_

Lynn found happiness in her marriage because her arranged husband did not judge her past. Paradoxically, what a blessing that was to know and what an awful feeling understanding you had been replaced. But then, how could Lynn's heart not respond to love and kindness genuinely given. How she craved those rare commodities for herself! Helen's logic concluded that Lynn had succumbed rather naturally to his affections.

Magic and love are distant cousins, descended from the same forefather. The cardinal that performed to Helen sung mournfully. She felt the ghostly kiss of her lover and knew she had been wrong. Lynn had _never_ stopped loving her, she had just been ill, and was now free of her mortal coil. A tear rolled down her cheek as grief pushed her over the edge. Her powers fell down the cliff and shattered like glass upon the earth. Helen was now a stranger to herself.

* * *

Even though Anne had insisted it wasn't necessary, Gilbert ate the entire pie. After that, he unbuttoned the top of his trousers and rubbed his stomach in achy complaint. It was a really good pie, but he would have eaten it all had it been a plate of dirt.

"You ate the _whole_ thing?!" Davy said with so much inflection that it almost warranted the disgusted look he threw at Gilbert. "Or did you make it disappear by magic?!" Gilbert was shocked at Davy's bold vibrato.

Anne then reminded Davy she did, in fact, make _two_ pies. Marilla and Davy portioned reasonably sized pieces from the second pastry, while Anne and Gilbert retreated back to the parlor's sofa quietly laughing.

Gilbert shrugged, more important things had happened at that meal. "You know Anne, I had _deja vu_ in there. Did you?"

Her eyes were more green than gray and they seemed to enlarge as she nodded.

"I felt as if the linear passage of time curled and I was looking at you in the past, and in the future; all in the here and now. I could taste our domestic felicity."

"There, it just happened again," Gilbert said. "You've said that before."

"I can't recall that I have."

"Huh, well, I know you've said it before." He was about to argue with Anne but was distracted.

Marilla entered the parlor, clearly wanting something from one of them or both. Anne turned to see what was happening behind her.

"Tonight, Anne, if you want to, and if Gilbert wants to, I can set up the bundling board for you two. You can start getting used to sleeping next to each other. Rachel is gone tonight, so there will be no hooping and hollering with accusations that I'm crazy to allow it. My grandparents bundled before they wed and they had a happy marriage. You are welcomed to do the same from time to time. But, I'll let you discuss it, of course."

Marilla exited the room as if she might have a regret or two about the offer. Her romantic sensibilities had been shaken up after witnessing Gilbert's reaction to Anne's pie. She was confident that Gilbert would not take advantage of the situation. She worried more about Anne's impulsiveness when it came down to it. But, even if they jumped the board, Marilla wouldn't be horrified. She was getting used to her girl being in love now, and she saw the pain the restraints of separation caused. She would be disappointed, yes, but it wouldn't horrify her.

"What do you think?" Anne asked. "I've seen it set up. I assure you, we're sitting closer like this than we will be on that bed."

"There's something weird about it," Gilbert answered. He wished to tell Anne that he rather wait for the day when he could hold her and touch her as they slept, but the setting of Green Gables' parlor truncated those verbalizations into chokes. The prospect of bundling seemed to be an exciting tease he didn't need. "On the other hand, I suppose that I'd be a fool to say 'no'. I should ask Mother and Father how they feel about it. If they agree to it, I'll need to bring a change of clothing and my razor. So, it looks like I'm departing soon."

"Oh, I left a Christmas present at your house for tomorrow morning. You should bring that back too."

"I saw that," Gilbert said. "I thought we agreed, no bought gifts this year."

"This is something you've asked for and is long overdue."

"Finally! Your photograph!" Gilbert deduced.

Anne flushed, "You'll see."

"And I need to get your present back from Diana. I might as well call on her now," Gilbert said as he stood and stretched. He fastened his trouser button. "Do you know why she's staying at her Mother's?"

"Yes, do you?"

"No, thus my question. Are you going to tell me?"

"She and Fred are on different sides of an opinion right now," Anne answered. "That's all I'll say."

* * *

Young Minnie May Barry greeted Gilbert at the door of Orchard Slope and informed him to wait for a second and she would get Diana. She was looking more and more like her older sister, such that he almost called her Diana. Gilbert waited several minutes.

"Oh Gilbert," Diana said as her eyes searched around the house for her little sister. She would criticize Minnie May for leaving him so long outside. "I'm sorry. I would have thought for sure Minnie May would have let you in. You're not that much of a stranger, although it does feel like a long time since I've seen you. Do you want a cup of tea to warm you up?"

"I'd love to stay and chat, but, I just came to get Anne's present, do you have it done?"

"Don't be mad Gilbert, but I never got around to it. It is very lovely as it is, but I think you should finish it. It would mean more to Anne if the script was in your handwriting."

"Well, then she wouldn't be able to read it. No proper doctor writes legibly and you have the best penmanship I've ever seen."

"Thank goodness I'm not a doctor then!" she smiled, pleased by his compliment. "No really, it just takes a little effort, you can do it. I'll go and get it."

Gilbert looked around the foyer and into the main sitting area. It looked much the same from Diana's wedding, only there was a yellow bassinet set up near a window and few soft toys scattered on the floor. From upstairs he heard baby Fred start to cry. Diana came back downstairs carrying her son.

"You haven't met him yet, have you?" Diana said. "This is Fred Jr. Fred, this is Uncle Gilbert!"

Gilbert had been served more than one description of baby Fred from Anne. Round, red and rolly-polly seemed to be her favorite adjectives. Gilbert had to agree with Anne's choicest words as somehow Diana slipped her son into his arms.

"I'll be right back Gilbert, make friends."

Gilbert stood stiff as a board as Fred Jr. squirmed and brought his hand into his gummy mouth.

"My, my, little guy, you do look like your Daddy, but you've got your Mama's forehead." But after a minute or two, Gilbert relaxed and he moved his free hand so he could touch the face of the excellent creature his childhood friends made. He was holding their whole world.

Diana saw how Gilbert was with her boy. She held onto Anne's gift for a moment and thought of what an exceptional parent Gilbert would be one day.

"Yours will have red hair."

Gilbert did not blush when Diana said that, he just smiled back.

"I hope so," Gilbert answered. "Don't tell Anne, it would vex her so, but the redder, the better! Should we trade now?"

Diana and Gilbert exchanged the objects in their arms. She lifted baby Fred so he was resting on her shoulder. Just before Gilbert excused himself, Diana bravely asked, "Did Anne tell you why I'm at Mother's?"

"Not really. She seems to think you and Fred have had a disagreement."

"Yes, Fred and I are working through something right now, but it looks like I'm going home tonight, he's said he's sorry. But I want to ask you about it, if I may speak frankly."

Gilbert groaned inwardly. _If I may speak frankly_ was the preface the professors at school warned him about. People from his past would suddenly trust him with their most personal medical issues. He had already encountered that with Moody Spurgeon MacPherson when he asked Gilbert about male patterned balding.

"Yes, speak frankly then," Gilbert said bracing himself.

"Dr. Spencer says it's my fault I keep.." Diana sighed uncomfortably. "...losing my pregnancies. I've lost two now, maybe three. Of course, Fred agrees with him. I thought maybe there was new information an old doctor wouldn't go looking for. Is it possible?"

"Oh, Diana! I'm so sad to hear this!" Gilbert said. "Miscarriages are very normal and no one is to be blamed for them. You need a second opinion and I'll check to see who you can go to for it."

"Thank you Gilbert," Diana breathed easier, "I can't ask for much more. Will you and Anne be at the service tonight? Fred is being installed as an elder, and baby Fred is playing Baby Jesus in the nativity play."

"Yes, Anne and I mean to be there. I'll see you later then. I better go home and start practicing my cursive."

* * *

Gilbert knew something was very wrong as soon as he entered his home. He saw that the breakfast dishes were still on the table and the fire was nearly out. He placed Anne's gift on the kitchen counter before throwing some kindling into the stove's belly. It was then he heard the muffled cry of his cousin coming from the guest bedroom.

"Helen?" He said, knocking on the door. She did not reply but continued to weep.

Gilbert opened the door and saw Helen sitting on her bed looking at a cold, black handgun. Her ice-blue eyes met his and he knew what she was contemplating.

"Helen! No!" He quickly snatched the sidearm off the bed. "You want to tell me what's going through your head?"

"Oh, Bertie!" Helen collapsed on the pillow behind her and she hid her eyes with her hand. "Last year I was so so happy. I was in love, I had a successful business. Now I have nothing! I have no lover and I've lost my powers! My parents have disowned me. I had my last premonition and it was a terrible one. Lynn has died! I should have known when my connection with her was beginning to slip that something was dreadfully wrong, but I just thought she stopped loving me. She never did. She was getting sicker and sicker until she passed away. Her spirit kissed me goodbye and then I knew the truth."

Gilbert shed a few tears from the rawness of Helen's voice. It was as bad as the wail a mother makes for her child's life. He sat next to her and pulled her hands off her face so she could see his wet eyes.

"Taking yourself away from this world won't solve anything Helen. I don't care what your parents think, or Mary Maria or any of those other Blythes jealous of _us_ inheriting the legacy. You are loved in this house and a valuable member of it, even without your powers." Gilbert paused, applying his handkerchief. "I remember how you talked to me when I was recovering after healing Dad. How you told me losing my powers wasn't the end. And you know what, you were right! This is not the end, Helen. It's not!"

Gilbert then hugged Helen and with his embrace, he took much of the edge off of the grief she bore.

"Oh dear!" Helen said. "Gilbert, I suppose you think I'm being foolish. I don't think I could have done it anyway, but, please, get rid of that thing from this house. I don't want to be tested again. Please get it away from me before I change my mind!"

"Here's what we're going to do," Gilbert said. "You're going to get up, and then we'll walk together to the ocean and throw this thing into it. You will survive this Helen. I promised you, you are not alone!"

* * *

Gilbert's father returned from his busy morning and found Gilbert leaned over the kitchen table attempting to carefully write in a loose leaf journal. He paced around Gilbert and into the kitchen, where he held his hands before the warm stove. He was glad Gilbert was home for a while and away from Green Gables. He missed his son.

"Is Anne better then?"

"Yes," Gilbert said. "She had a rough night, but I was able to fix it this morning. I told her she couldn't climb any trees though."

He laughed, "That does sound like Anne Shirley, I'm glad you could help her, Son." John sat down with his favorite mug in his hand. "I thought Uncle Dave would be back by now, I suppose Sis has him trapped in a conversation. Where are the girls?"

"Helen's asleep and Mother went with Mrs. Sloane to decorate the sanctuary for tonight's service."

"Right," John drank deeply and watched Gilbert dip his fountain pen into the inkwell. He waited until the scratching sound the pen made over the parchment stopped.

"Speaking of the Sloane's, Charlie's called a couple of times while you've been at school." His father paused, "Do you not write to him? Are you mad at him?"

"I wouldn't say that exactly," Gilbert said, trying to write the word 'Aster' as lovely as he could. "Our friendship was more of a competition for Anne. It was complicated."

"Not that complicated. He said he wanted news of you, but he was fishing around to meet Helen."

Gilbert dropped the pen. "No. Tell me you're lying."

"Helen always managed to make herself scarce before he showed up. Pesky little seer, hum?"

"That does sound like Helen Blythe."

"The Sloane's are a respected family in Avonlea and around these parts. Helen could do worse."

"Oh, Dad," Gilbert stopped labeling pages and pushed Anne's gift away for the moment. His eyes grew with concern. "Charlie's not necessarily a bad guy but I don't see him, or any man frankly, as being right for Helen. And I hate what he might do if he was aware of _our_ powers. I think he could get mean about it."

"Everyone in town knows about Helen's powers and he still comes by. It's your powers that I want to be kept secret. You're the one I worry about, not Helen. Her ability is almost considered normal in this age of spiritualism."

"Helen is worth worrying about, Dad." Gilbert then made his father listen to an abridged version of what Helen had told him. "She's suffering terribly."

"You did too when you lost yours, but you got over it. So will she."

John examined the book Gilbert had been inscribing. His eyebrows lifted to question what it was.

"It's Anne's Christmas present and it's not done yet."

Mr. Blythe looked at his pocket watch. "Son, you better get crackin'. You don't have too much time left if you mean to give it to her tonight at church."

"Maybe I just need a break," Gilbert got up and refreshed his own mug with coffee.

"It's a thoughtful gift," John declared as he looked through it. "It seems perfect for her."

"I hope so. Anne set the bar fairly high."

"Well, she always did that to you. Challenge you, I mean."

"Well, I might have a new challenge." Gilbert went ahead and voiced his own uncomfortable thoughts. "Father, Miss Cuthbert has offered Anne and me a chance to bundle tonight. I told Anne I would discuss it with you and Mother first. I'm not sure I want to. I think it would be too much excitement, knowing Anne is so close to me in some sort of frilly night thing." Pink stained his cheeks. "I don't want her to see any evidence of a dream."

Mr. Blythe could not hide the smirk on his face. "Marilla and I used it once. It's actually quite the erection, the way it divides the bed."

"Ah, Dad!" Gilbert groaned as a beet red blush took over his face.

His father laughed mercilessly. "You know what you're worried about is completely normal, especially for an unmarried man. You remember our talk when your voice changed, we discussed it then."

"The worst ten minutes of my life. I've been trying to forget it ever since," Gilbert said as he tried to recover some dignity. "Is it really high?"

"Annoyingly high! It's made for talkin', not touchin'."

Gilbert hedged. "What do you think? Honest."

"I think my son knows how to behave himself in any situation. I'll smooth it out with your mother, but don't make her wait too long for you tomorrow morning."

* * *

Gilbert escorted both Helen and Anne into town for the annual Christmas Eve prayer service. It wasn't that many years ago that Anne and Gilbert were actors with parts to play in the nativity pageant. Now Dora played Mary as the newest church elder, Fred Wright, read from Luke 1. Gilbert couldn't help but appreciate her costume and its fancy embroidery along her skirt's hem. It added something extra to the pageant.

Ralph Andrews played Joseph. He was the tallest Joseph Gilbert had ever seen. He seemed to stand more rigid when he had to look at Mary. Gilbert wondered when Ralph took Dora's hand for the flight into Egypt, if there was something more there than just stage fright. Dora was trembling ever so slightly.

But then Baby Fred stole the show with a well-timed cry when the name Herod was mentioned. He didn't stop and his cries interrupted the flow of the play. Diana had to get up and take him away and then Baby Robbie assumed the role of Jesus. Gilbert was glad to see Gertie and Robert Wright together in the audience. He had heard through the grapevine that they had finally wed. Avonlea believed the falsehood told to explain the bouncing baby boy. Robert and Gertie had managed to adopt their own son and no one knew the wiser, except perhaps the solicitor.

When the play ended and Gilbert found himself stretching his legs with the other men. The ladies were busy arranging food for intermission.

Davy found Gilbert. "Did you see how Ralph _look_ _ed_ a Dora?"

"Davy, he had to look at her to do the play."

Davy's frustration was thickly spread over his face. "You know what I mean. He looked at her like you look at Anne. Gilbert, how do I fix it? How do I get it to stop? We only just turned thirteen."

"Davy, this is not a conversation to have at church or in public, but I'm happy to discuss it with you in private. All right?"

"Promise?"

Gilbert smiled, "I promised you, Davy, I'm your brother now, right?"

Davy stared back at Gilbert with an embarrassed grin and he ran off indicating he would wait for the conversation. Gilbert chuckled. He really liked regarding Davy as family and he could see that it was mutual.

"Gil?"

Gilbert turned to shake the hand of an old friend.

"So, you won her in the end," Charlie Sloane admitted. "I thought for sure Anne would have accepted that Kingsport fellow instead of an island boy, but you've proven me wrong."

"If it's any consolation Charlie, I did almost die in the process of wooing her," Gilbert reminded him. "But you got over her and then found someone else, how long were you and Lorraine together?"

"A couple of years. She refused me too. I'm actually glad now, she didn't have much to bring to the union, other than looks. I don't think Mother would have liked her. Although it did hurt a lot at the time. Which makes me the bachelor of our class. Do you suppose I should go west like Jane Andrews and find myself an heiress?"

"I know for sure your mother won't like that."

Charlie got a bit quiet and glanced over at Helen, who was arranging Christmas cookies. She looked radiant in her new red dress and matching headband. She did not show any bit of the depression she suffered but looked to be a gay light full of smiles.

"How old is your cousin, Helen?"

"Twenty-seven," Gilbert said.

"And she was the one your folks wanted you to marry?

"Some of them, yes. My parents love Anne though. They're happy to have her as their daughter-in-law."

"You mean _now_ they do. They had quite a different opinion of her back in the day."

"'That was a long time ago and she did crack a slate over my head. Although, I think father always thought it was my choice."

"Well, I would like to call on her," Charlie said. "I'm not asking for your permission or anything, I'm just telling you my intention. I suppose she'd prefer an older man, but still, she's pretty, would you introduce me? Please?"

Gilbert's hesitation was apparent. "I don't think you'll find a warm reception, Charlie."

"If you mean her past, I know all about it."

"I don't think you do."

"I have a lot of connections in New Brunswick. Trust me. I know _all_ about it."

"Why would you want to if that's the case," Gilbert said. "She'll never be able to love you back, not with her whole heart anyway."

"I think she would appreciate what I could do for her just the same," Charlie said. "We live in a world where marriage is necessary for success. She can only go so far in her business unwed. I can give her a respectable name and connections. She's a talented seamstress. It would be a mutually profitable arrangement."

"That doesn't sound very romantic."

"Not everyone marries for romance, you know that. She's twenty-seven Gilbert. She's a spinster living in her uncle's house wearing herself ragged sewing. She'll listen to what I have to say. Introduce me, please?"

* * *

"I want to talk to you about your cousin, Helen." Fred said as he leaned in to obtain two glasses of punch. "Do you have a second?"

Gilbert glanced over to where Anne sat in the pew. Her face was uplifted as she talked pleasantly with Moody and Helen was nearby also seemingly entranced in a dialogue with Charlie Sloane. Gilbert did introduce them, he didn't see how to get around it. If not him it would have been someone else.

"Well. . . sure," Gilbert said, as he started to drink his own punch.

"I'll cut to the chase. As a new pastoral elder, I want to remind you as a fellow member of the Church of our Christian duty to instruct in the faith and admonish evil. Diana says your cousin Helen is a witch. I was hoping that was not true, but she admitted it as such to Minnie May. I am naturally concerned for her immortal soul and the example she gives to those around her. Have you spoken to her about giving up this evil for the good of the Kingdom?"

Gilbert stared back into the eyes of his longtime friend in sheer disbelief. Fred's round, red face looked back at him in earnest. Gilbert shook his head to wake up.

"Well, have you?" Fred asked.

"Fred, it's not something she can take on and off like a hat. It's a part of her like your finger is a part of your hand and right now that finger is smashed."

Gilbert felt a bit panicked and his jaw jutted. What if Fred found out about his powers? Would he accuse him of being evil?

"Her powers are a spiritual gift from God. She inherited our grandmother's ability and she has put to it good use. Now, I would prefer that she be more discreet but she's not communing with the dead, which is what the Bible forbids. She places her faith in God, not divination."

Fred raised his eyebrows at Gilbert. "Gil, you seem really upset, I did not mean to make you so angry."

"Of course I'm upset," Gilbert stated quietly as to not cause a commotion. "It was that sort of thinking that caused my family to leave England in the first place. You knew our Grandmother. She helped build this very church. Look at how our faith has grown in Avonlea because of it. Does that sound logical to you? Why would she work to build the Kingdom and damn herself in the process?"

"Alright Gil," Fred said. "I'm sorry to have mentioned it to you. I was primarily worried about her soul and I know you believe in the resurrection from the dead. I thought it would concern you as it does me, but clearly, you are not."

"Fred, please let go of this. If you need a scripture verse to help you do that, I have one for you," Gilbert retorted. "'Judge not lest ye be judged'-Mathew 7. If you really want to help Helen, just be kind to her. She could really use a friend that won't judge her for what she can and cannot do. I'm begging you, please Fred. Will you and Diana be that for her?"

Gilbert excused himself when he saw that Fred wasn't going to answer him. He found himself walking up to Helen and Charlie. Helen knew something was wrong as Gilbert's jaw was slack with shock.

"Helen, would you mind if I took you home. I've remembered something of the utmost importance that I need to do."

"Well, actually Gilbert," Helen said slightly amused. "I'm going to try something new tonight. Mr. Sloane has agreed to see me home. He has fascinating ideas on my business and I'm anxious to hear more."

"Charlie," Gilbert said. "Can I trust you to makes sure Helen has a pleasant time the rest of the night? I'm counting on you."

Gilbert then went to Anne and extracted her to his side. "Let's go, please Anne. We'll get Davy to drive so he can come back and get Marilla and Dora."

* * *

"Merry Christmas Anne," Gilbert said, handing her a box with a large red ribbon on it. They were back in the parlor of Anne's home alone.

Anne took her present out of his hands and she noticed his cheeks looked warm with nerves. He kept diverting his eyes away and rubbing his knees with his hands as Anne slowly untied the knot. She took off the lid and found herself staring at a white journal, which in his hand read, "Anne and Me and Avonlea."

"You wrote me a book?" Anne said astonished. A huge smile was plastered on her face. She would never have guessed it!

"It's our story."

She set the volume on her lap and put its box on the floor by her small feet. She then took his hand into her own and somehow shared in his nervousness as she opened the cover.

Inside was a dedication and a date.

 _To Anne-girl  
_ _and to our island  
_ _and to the flora_ _that we found  
_ _as we fell in love with_ _each other._

 _Your Gilbert_

Gilbert had pressed flowers mounted on each page. She looked up into his eyes, as she lightly touched the pressed apple blossoms on the first page.

"Our tree?"

He nodded. "It was the last one left, I almost think it was waiting for me to pluck it."

Each page invoked another memory with him. Anne leaned into Gilbert's chest, and heard his heart thump, as they roamed the Haunted Wood in the dead of winter. She loved the soft petals littered in their love-story and lingering fragrance of spring. He circled his arms around her and kissed the crown of her head. He then lifted her chin so her fine nose was touching his, and pressed a kiss upon her lips.

"How on Earth did you manage this?" Anne breathlessly asked as he wrapped his index finger around one of the red ringlets springing from her bun.

"Well, I've been pressing flowers for years," Gilbert said before kissing Anne again. "Whenever I noticed a flower you liked or had in your hair, or in your basket, I would press one."

"Oh Gil," Anne answered. "This has to be years and years worth of pressings."

"It started when I took your tissue flower way back when. I just kept it going. I got better at it over time."

"Is the tissue flower in here?" Anne leafed through the book again.

"No, that one stays with me. It's the first."

Anne stood from the sofa they shared, and for a moment, Gilbert was sure she stood to get the other present she had for him. Instead, she lounged across his lap and put her arm around his shoulder. She leaned down and kissed the nape of his neck, causing Gilbert to arch his back in surprise and grab her wandering free hand. She kept kissing him, sometimes on his neck, sometimes on his face, sometimes on his lips, but in a rhythmic wave that seemed reserved only for the married.

"You like that?" Anne said with stars in her eyes.

"Of course, but Anne," Gilbert said. "You're making it very difficult for me, to keep my promise, to stay chaste until we're married."

"Why must you?"

"Anne," was all he said. And she stopped, with a small frown.

There were many reasons beyond a possible pregnancy to remain pure. Mostly, he needed her to know that she could always trust him, for his nights and days as a doctor would be unpredictable. He might be gone days at a time. He might be called to stay overnight as some lonely widow's house. How would Anne ever be able to trust him if they moved forward in their passions? The chaste gift he wanted Anne to have he meant for her to have the rest of her life. He didn't want any stray thought of unfaithfulness to cross her mind in their future, and how could it not if she knew that they themselves couldn't stay virgins.

Anne knew none of this when she got up and brought Gilbert the other gift she had for him.

"You've already guessed what this is, but, I have a small surprise in it too."

Gilbert's brows twitched as he unwrapped it. It was the photograph. She sat before a light-colored curtain backdrop. Her hair was in a neat pile on her head. She wore a blouse that had lace around the neckline. Around the edge of the frame was an auburn braid of hair securely fastened. Gilbert suddenly recognized what it was mounted on.

"It couldn't be?" He said, flipping the frame over, where " _I love you, 'Carrots'"_ was written in chalk.

"It's my old slate!" He thumbed the initials GB he carved in the corner.

"Dora spent days and days looking for it from the school's storage shed. Do you notice anything else?"

"This braid? Your hair?" He touched it gingerly.

Anne smiled. "Yes. I made a few thin braids before I cut my bang. I knew that there was no such thing as color photography, and you'd never see my hair's pigment. I wanted to work a locket into the display, but then thought to frame it on a slate given our explosive start. It seemed fitting to do it like this, a full circle."

Gilbert kissed Anne on the cheek. "This has been a fabulous Christmas Anne, our first Christmas truly together."

"Minus yesterday's mayhem?"

"Even with that," Gilbert said. He held up his hand as Anne protested. "You are well. Mrs. Lynde is well now. I will have to trust that everything else happened for a reason, even Charlie's interest in Helen."

"What about Fred's statements?"

"I know Fred. He meant it in the best possible sense. I know that, but.." Gilbert looked hurt, "I'm still amazed at how much growing he has to do, I _hope_ he'll get there. We just have to trust in Providence."

"You're putting an awful lot on Providence, Gilbert."

"No, I am not. If there's anything I've learned, it's we can do anything, together."

 **to be continued**


	10. I Think Your Bun is Too Tight

Timeline - _Anne of Windy Poplars, The First Year._ This chapter occurs before chapter 8.

* * *

 **Chapter 10: I Think Your Bun is too Tight**

Mrs. Rachel Lynde returned from holiday to the shock of her life! She learned from Dora that Gilbert and Anne had bundled together Christmas Eve. It took all of Marilla's cunning to explain herself, but Mrs. Lynde wouldn't be persuaded. Rachel had made her thoughts known that she never approved of co-educational institutions when Anne went off to college. The idea that Marilla Cuthbert had allowed such a thing as a co-educational bed, which was, unfortunately, located one door down from hers, was unthinkable!

" _Marilla_ …? Marilla Cuthbert! You've thrown the fat into the fire, that's what! You've just made their engagement a million times harder and if you could have seen how closely they were dancing together at that gala, you would have never allowed it. You mark my words, Marilla, there will be red-headed babies crawling around here at Green Gables if you continue to allow this!"

"Bundling is a Cuthbert tradition and it will continue if they want to," Marilla put her foot down. "Sometimes the old ways are the best ways! And it's not _all_ the time Rachel. Gilbert is far too needed at his home, but I think, this summer, once a fortnight, would be a healthy start. I've already talked to John and Geraldine about it, and they are supportive. Of course, I knew they would be, seeing as I know a thing or two about their short-lived separation."

Those comments lit a fire under Rachel that took a half an hour to burn out. Marilla held her tongue and let Rachel spew. Mrs. Lynde paced in and out of the kitchen, removing her hat, gloves, and purse, all the while giving haughty comments of a similar vein. Marilla simply continued to sip her tea and waited for the steam to exit her longtime friend.

Finally, Rachel sat down at the table next to Marilla.

"I think your bun is too tight. That's what! It's pulling all the good sense out of your head and warpin' your thinkin'!" Mrs. Lynde said exasperatedly. "There's a reason why bundling fell out of fashion. It didn't work like folks thought it ought. Too many babies!"

"Well honestly Rachel, I need to persuade you on this, as I need your help," Marilla stopped, realizing that if she started down this road with her, there would be no return. There would be no way to take it back or bamboozle her understanding. As old as they were, Rachel's mind remained sharp as a tack. Marilla felt uneasy as she knew she was breaking a forty-two-year-old confidence. She was going to do it, she had to. Ultimately, it was for Anne.

"Well, what is it that caused such a tremendous lapse in judgment?"

"Rachel, before I answer that question, I want you to recall a conversation you overheard me have with Gilbert's grandmother, Elizabeth, over forty years ago. Do you remember? I think that you do, you asked me about it shortly after."

"You must be talking about the one at church."

"Yes. What did you overhear again?"

"Marilla Cuthbert, I don't know what your driving at, that conversation has nothing to do with bundling."

"Not directly but it will. I need you to humor me first, please! What did John's mother tell me? Tell me word for word, if you can."

"Oh, I can!" Rachel pounced. "That conversation was so peculiar it impressed in my mind most firmly. Let's see. You had just refused John's proposal. And Elizabeth was very cross with you and said, 'But I see so many great-grandchildren, and one of them so powerful too,' and then you said..." Rachel stopped and stared back at Marilla and frowned. Marilla pursed her lips together to help her succeed in staying calm and unmoved. "You said," Rachel shook her head. "Marilla you said something beyond crazy."

"What was it exactly? Do you really think it's going to shock me? I was the one that said it."

Sighing hard, Rachel continued. "You said, 'There's no way I can raise a child with magical powers. I don't have it in me.'"

"I did say that, but when you asked me about it the next day, what did I tell you?"

"You asked me to forget about it and not repeat it to anyone."

"And you haven't!"

Rachel shook her head. "No, but, I've always wondered about the Blythes ever since then."

"I know Rachel. Thank you for sharing your end of things once more. Let me get you some tea."

Marilla wiped her hands off on a kitchen towel before pouring heated water out of the kettle and into the teapot. Fetching tea was an excuse to keep herself calm and slow down her own thinking. Marilla had never gone through the inner dialogue of telling anyone about the Blythes. But it had to be done now after she overheard Josie and Gertie Pye talking at the Christmas Eve prayer service about Helen's abilities and then their conjecture on Gilbert. She brought over Rachel a slice of apple pie along with her beverage.

"I'm going to tell you the rest of the story because you have kept quiet about what you overheard so long ago. No one has ever approached me with any _correct_ gossip about why I refused John."

Rachel was so intrigued now she wasn't interested in food. She waited impatiently for Marilla to sit down and explain.

"Elizabeth and her husband, Raymond, were cousins, maybe you didn't know that, and the two of them were descended from a long line of English witches. Oh, yes! That's right. Your ears heard correctly. Now, what does that have to do with today? I am willing to bet you have heard of Helen's abilities. She's pretty open about them. She inherited 'the legacy', as they call it. But she wasn't the only one bearing the name Blythe to do so. As far as powers go, clairvoyance is only one of many. Helen's father, John's oldest brother can bi-locate. He can be in two places at the same time. That's what John had told me. And Dr. David Blythe is more than just a mere physician, he can also heal supernaturally."

"Oh, Lawful Heart!" Rachel said shocked to her core. Her jaw was so loose that Marilla could see her molars. "Well, if what you say is true, then..." Rachel looked down at her stomach and felt across her belly. "Anyone bearing the name Blythe has these outlandish powers?"

"No, only a few of them actually. In John's case."

Interrupting very rudely, "What could John Blythe do?"

"Actually, nothing. He wasn't born with the legacy, neither was his sister. But, John's mother saw promise in our match, and she was convinced that the legacy would pass through us. She never foresaw anyone else but me in that pattern. So, the child John and Geraldine had was at first, ignored, but it turned out that Gilbert.."

"No, don't tell me! You're saying that Gilbert… Gilbert Blythe was born with all these magic-y powers."

"Yes!"

"Humpf! Well, who would have thought it? Blythe constitution, my _derriere_!"

Marilla watched Rachel feel her stomach again and guessed her thoughts. "Marilla, you don't think that Gilbert fixed my stomach, do you? I don't have to eat a quarter cup of red cabbage a day per Dr. Dave's orders."

"I certainly do know that Gilbert healed you when you were out," Marilla sighed. "Healing is what he does with his abilities, although, Elizabeth told me once that Gilbert was so exceptional, she thought he could maintain several ways to practice. I guess there's a tendency to specialize."

"Marilla, while this news is extremely fascinating, and actually goes a very, _very_ , long way in explaining some weird things I've noticed throughout my life here in Avonlea, it doesn't have anything to do with bundling. And I still don't approve of it, especially next to my room. So, where's the connection?"

"Your bed and the bundling bed share the same wall."

"A paper thin wall at that."

"I know," Marilla drummed her fingers on the table. "I need your help to keep tabs on them. Gilbert seems to have more on his plate than what he can handle and he's going to need help, except, have you ever known a Blythe to ask for help?"

Rachel rolled her expressive eyes. "Well, if they can just wave a wand and fix it, that's all very well explained."

"Except they can't do that," Marilla answered. "They're real people called to do exceptional things. They don't have the answers for everything, and quietly watching them for so long, they've made some huge mistakes. It's no wonder, really. Helen told me when I was in her shoppe that she couldn't be bothered with lying to others when she could read anything she wanted about them. She, like all the other Blythes, have an over-developed sense of fairness. If they didn't have real lives with pains and sufferings, how could the compassionately use their abilities? No, we need to help them. What do you think would happen if the wrong sort found out?"

"I don't know, but I suppose it would be bad." Rachel went back to feeling her stomach and Marilla could see Rachel's face change to express gratitude for what Gilbert tried to hide from her. "Again, how does all this relate to bundling?"

"I think when you see the bundling bed, you'll feel a little bit better that it was built with conversation in mind. When Anne and Gilbert are bundling, I want you in your bedroom listening to what they say. Like you said, that wall is paper thin, and your ears pick up more things than a cat's. Perhaps they will say something useful and we can help unofficially."

"Oh, Marilla, you want me to spy on them? I would have never thought you'd ask me to do something so invasive."

"Oh, stuffin' nonsense," Marilla exclaimed. "You are a natural spy to the core, that's how you found out about why I refused John in the first place."

Rachel furrowed her brow and pointed her brown eyes to the table, begrudgingly admitting Marilla's summation.

"And what will you do, Marilla?"

"Well, I own thumb screws and I'm not afraid to use them."

 **to be continued**


	11. A Few Moments in Suspense

Timeline -Jump ahead to the summer holidays between The First Year and The Second Year of _Anne of Windy Poplars._

* * *

 **Chapter 11: A Few Moments in Suspense**

Soon after the start of summer vacation Gilbert and Anne paid a call to Fred and Diana Wright. Diana greeted Anne and Gilbert at the front door of her modest home and farm. Fred was not there. He, unfortunately, was delayed in Carmody but Diana naturally received them with her apologies. Gilbert looked around the old building, comparing its condition to that of his memories. The paint was white, new and fresh. Poor Fred must have spent hours and hours scraping the old brown, pink, and yellow Victorian pastels off the house. Diana led them through the foyer and to her parlor, where baby Fred napped on a blanket in a low crib. Gilbert marveled how a little love could turn the old place into a fine home.

"You know, last time I stood here in this room, I believe it was for a wake. And it was not in the pretty condition it is now. You're really quite good at turning a lemon into lemonade." Gilbert said to Diana. "My aunt married a Fletcher, you know. This old place was uncle's grandfather's home, and they let it go derelict."

"Well, we're very grateful that Abraham Fletcher's farm was available when Fred was looking for a place for us. It's a bit secluded from Avonlea, I'm not sure I mind so much anymore." Diana said. "Fred can be excellent company and now that Fred Junior is running everywhere, there's never a dull moment."

"Diana, can I help you with the tea?" Anne asked as she showed Diana her basket of goods, "Marilla and Mrs. Lynde loaded me down with plum jam, sweet bread, and freshly baked crackers. And I think you'll also find a housewarming present for you as well."

"Gilbert, you don't mind if we abandon you for a moment?" Diana's chin pointed to her kitchen.

"No, not at all, do you mind if I look around some more? I love exploring old places."

"Not a bit!"

Diana took Anne to her kitchen where she had already laid out a tray for her company tea. Diana unwrapped the fresh crackers and put some plum jam in a cut-glass serving dish for the occasion. Anne picked up the tray to take it to the parlor's sideboard, when Diana stopped her abruptly, holding her fast at her elbow. She was white as a ghost and trembling.

"Anne, I...I can't pretend anymore. I need your help now, will you...help me? Please?"

"Diana, whatever is wrong?" Anne said as she returned the tray to the counter and rubbed Diana's puffed sleeve. Diana's shiny black eyes grew moist with tears.

"I'm pregnant again, and I cannot bear the thought of another miscarriage. I have to have this one."

Anne hugged Diana at the sight of her forlorn expression. Diana was not quite able to hug her back, as one hand held jam and the other hand held a bowl of Marilla's good crackers. "Anything Diana. Just ask."

Diana put aside her items and then brushed the tears away with a cloth napkin. "Heal me, please."

Anne's face dropped in surprise. Surely Diana didn't think it was her.

"Don't give me that look, Anne," Diana said. "I've heard that story more than once from Josie. How baby Robbie started crying after _you_ were called to Gilbert's side. He was suddenly made alive. You have some ability, some special power that allows you to heal, don't you?"

"Diana, I would heal you in a second, but it's not me," Anne said. "I am not the healer." It had been almost a year since Gilbert had told Anne she could tell Diana if she had to, that he would trust her, but the necessity hadn't presented itself until right then.

"Not you? _Not you_?" Diana argued as new tears formed. "What do you mean it's not you, it has to be you! You healed Minnie May when she was sick, didn't you? You healed Gilbert when he was sick, didn't you? And baby Robbie!"

"Diana, sit with me for just a second. I can see how desperate you are, but you're wrong about me. It is not me." Diana allowed Anne to push her into a chair adjacent to the table, her back was to the corridor.

"Diana, I treated Minnie May for croup. Remember, I needed a bottle of ipecac syrup and Minnie May's recovery was very typical. Lots of phlegm. Lots of coughing. There was nothing supernatural in it. I did not heal Gilbert from typhoid. I couldn't even visit him, I don't even know where you got that idea."

"It was something Helen said when we first met."

"Well, she's wrong. I was not there, as much as I wanted to be, I just wasn't." Anne could now see Gilbert enter the kitchen from her side vision. She held her posture and her focus. She did not let Diana know that he was there too.

Gilbert froze as he realized their conversation was about healing powers.

"If I could have healed Gilbert from it, of course, I would have, but again, I am not the healer."

"What about baby Robbie?" Diana asked. "Josie was sure that the baby was born dead."

"And you know, I thought so too, but Gil rubbed him down and then he started to cry. He did need my help because his hands were starting to shake and asked me to steady them for him."

Diana started to weep. "Oh, I must be crazy. Of course, I am; to believe _you_ have supernatural powers. I am just so afraid that I'll lose this baby too." She caressed her lower abdomen. "I'm trying to find a way that it won't happen again. The referrals Gilbert gave me, they're so far away Anne. Johns Hopkins University? Where is Maryland? Even the closest in Halifax seems too far." Diana was turning purple with her continued sobs. When she bowed her head down Anne took the chance to look up at Gilbert to ask him with her eyes _What shall I do?_

Gilbert nodded, _Go ahead._ _Tell her._

"Diana, I've told you I am not the healer, but you're not completely wrong. There is a healer."

"What do you mean Anne Shirley? Who is it?" Diana implored.

Anne smiled back at a head that was completely bent over with despair. Anne rubbed her back and she calmed, hearing Anne softly say, "Oh, Diana, don't you know? All you have to do is look up."

Diana lifted her head off her arms and stared back at Gilbert as he sat down next to a nonplussed Diana. There was a bashfulness in Gilbert that made him almost unrecognizable. Diana's spine became rigid and she sobered up feeling rather dumb and embarrassed. _But of course!_ _Josie's conjecture had to be_ _completely_ _true. She had no imagination to tell this sort of lie._

Gilbert put his hand over Diana's, saying clearly and without too much emotion in a frank if unplanned reveal. "Robbie wasn't dead, but he was very close to dying. I could see that, so, I healed Robbie. I hadn't used my powers since I was twelve until that day. I needed Anne's help to channel them that first time. That's why I called for her. I wasn't even sure if it was going to work. It did though, luckily, for your nephew's sake."

Diana tried to pull her hand out of Gilbert's at this point, but he prevented her.

"I'm actually reading you right now. If something's wrong, I usually can tell quickly, but nothing's jumping out at me, so I need to prod you a little bit. Just relax, it's just me. Plain ol' Gilbert."

Diana felt his thumb rub reassuringly over the back of her hand. Unsure if holding his hand was proper, she looked to Anne confused. Anne grinned approval as she answered Diana's question with her wide, gray eyes. Using his other hand, he sandwiched Diana's, reading her carefully. He tried to hide his intrigue, realizing that what he was seeing was the changes a mother's body makes for an active womb. It wasn't a sickness: It wasn't an injury. But it was fascinating. There was no note of alarm, just the presence of a little girl, that made the corners of his mouth start to curl up. The extent of his own powers had surprised him. Towards the end of his own life, he always remembered this reading as one of the happiest he had ever done.

Anne spoke as Gilbert stayed focus on his task, "That day in Charlottetown, we were amazed at you, Diana! You knew exactly what to say to Josie. We thought maybe you found out somehow, but we weren't sure how it could be. We were happy to know we had such an ally in you."

"The look on your face told me I had to try something. It was a stab in the dark." Diana said, a whole lot calmer. She tried to pull her hand away again, "Gil, your hands are getting so hot."

"Very well," and he let her hand go. "I can't see anything wrong," Gilbert assured.

"So there's nothing wrong with my baby?"

"The baby seems fine, but I really don't know for sure. My powers can't go beyond a certain point."

"You can't tell?"

Gilbert shook his head. "Not this way. With your history of miscarriages, you really do need an obstetrician."

"They're too far away, Gilbert. I am sure you knew that when you gave those referrals to me." Diana stood and returned to the tray of food sitting on her counter, still trembling. "You know how isolated we are." She drew in a couple of deep breaths and steadied herself.

"Gil, can we ask Eugene to come here?" Anne suggested. She looked towards Diana as she attempted to lift the tea tray with some rather unsteady arms. "Diana, let me, you've had quite the shock and seem understandably nervous." Anne picked up the tray and headed to the parlor's sideboard, once again.

Gilbert turned his head and looked at Diana, "Diana, have you talked to Fred about seeing a specialist at all?"

"No, once I saw where they were, I knew that making an appointment was out of the question. I could never go. So why mention it?"

"Please talk to him about it. Tell him how important it is to you, and I recommend he be there during the exam. For your comfort but also for his own reassurance, but whatever you do, do not tell him about me. He just can't handle it."

"I know Gilbert. I deeply regret telling him about Helen," Diana said. "I'm very sorry about that. He's a good man, he loves me, but he's not exactly broad-minded."

Gilbert ushered Diana back into the parlor. He steered Diana to her soft chair, with the log cabin quilt adorned over it. They had a silent argument about who should be serving whom, but Gilbert won and she reclined, taking his advice with her tea. She would speak to Fred and Gilbert would telegraph Eugene.

* * *

Gilbert and Davy left Green Gables together with fishing poles in hand and a bucket of night-crawlers at the wee hours of dawn. There were a couple of things that Gilbert needed to discuss with Davy, the least important, in his head, was the recent growth spurt Davy was going through. Marilla suggested that he have a "man to man" talk with Davy. Gilbert sort of blanched a bit, recalling an unfortunate incident when he was the schoolmaster at White Sands and having to explain things to another thirteen-year-old. Marilla saw Gilbert's hesitation and then suggested she could do it herself, to which, Gilbert found himself pitying Davy. He agreed that this is what an older brother was for, in the absence of a father.

Gilbert borrowed Mr. Harrison's dory, so, if the conversation went poorly, Davy couldn't take off and run, unlike his former student. Davy loaded the dory with their things and Gilbert waded into the Lake of Shining Waters, his trouser legs rolled up, exposing his hairy shins; his shoes, and socks in his hands. Placing them next to his seat, he pushed the small boat out a bit from the shoreline and got in.

Davy wanted to row. Gilbert baited their hooks and soon they were two men staring out over the quiet waters waiting for the fish to bite. He barely noticed how the summer breezes pushed the dory gently over the stagnant green waters, Gilbert was contemplating the next summer which had to go as planned.

Uncle David indicated that he would like Gilbert to take over his practice after medical school. That meant a few things. Gilbert needed money for a down payment. The practice wasn't free, after all. That likely meant Gilbert would be taking a summer job out west on the railroad. It would be steady work and secure income. It also meant he couldn't come home and help his father with his land. He was hoping Davy could help him out of this pinch. He needed to ask Davy for a pretty big favor.

An hour passed without a word shared but four fish caught. Davy had quite the knack.

Gilbert shrugged as he pulled his hook out of the pond. He tried to find a livelier worm from the bucket. Now replaced, the water gave up a small "plop" as the line was recast. Maybe if he started with Marilla's topic first, and then if Davy was too uncomfortable, Gilbert would sidebar into his objective.

"Miss Cuthbert asked me to talk to you about, getting older," Gilbert said, "But you're a smart fellow. I don't want to embarrass you. Do you have any questions?"

"Oh," Davy said, rolling his eyes but not surprised. "If this is about birds and bees, then no. I don't understand why everyone wants to talk to me about _that_ anyway. Mr. Barry talked to me five months ago, he pulled me away and sat me down and talked and talked forever. I think _he_ might be confused actually. And Milty's father tried to talk to me about _that_ too, and then two months ago, Mr. Harrison did the same thing, only, well, Mr. Harrison has dogs you know." He scowled at his memory.

"Don't tell me," Gilbert shuddered at his conclusion.

"I knew how puppies were made anyway. I do live on a farm. Trust me, I get it."

"Davy, I'm sorry. You certainly don't need me if you have so many volunteer mentors."

"Well, I do have a question, but it's not about _me_. It's about Dora." Davy piped up. "I'm not sure I understand what exactly happens to the girls? Do they go into heat, like cats?"

Gilbert stifled a laugh. "No, women are different." One year of medical training and few shared insights from Anne were condensed down and quickly concluded when Davy expressed the predominant opinion of all males past, present, and future, "Oh, that's just gross."

"Do you want to change the subject?"

"Yes,"

"Are you interested in taking over the farm at Green Gables?"

Davy peered up to Gilbert. "Maybe, when I'm older."

"It would mean a lot to me if you could start thinking about it now." Gilbert's voice was encouraging. "Or are you thinking you might be a college man instead?"

Davy snorted.

"Well, Dad needs help running his place and I can't be there anymore, this summer is my last farming. I know I'd be asking a lot from you. Would you cover for me next summer with Dad? If you seriously think you'd like to be the master of Green Gables someday, Dad is the best farmer to learn from, and he'd teach you everything he knows."

Gilbert watched Davy's eyebrows twitch considering. "Yeah, I could do that. Next summer you say?"

Gilbert nodded, and then added, "Don't tell anyone yet, not even Anne. I need to tell her a special way. It will be our secret."

"You know I can keep a secret," Davy responded in a manner reminding Gilbert of Marilla.

That brought up yet another question. "Davy, how come..?" Gilbert was unsure on how to start. "We've never talked about what you've learned about me. I'm sort of hurt that you've never asked me about my powers. Just so you know."

He glared up at Gilbert. "I was trying very hard to forget about all that."

"But it's who I am. Well, it's who I am now, anyway."

"What do you mean, _now_?"

"I lost my powers when I was about your age. I healed my father and then 'poof', no powers. Then thirteen years later, 'poof' they're back. I attribute Anne to restoring them; although, I have yet to figure out how."

"Your father was sick?"

"He was dying of tuberculosis, err, consumption. Like Ruby Gillis did."

"Oh, I'm sorry," Davy answered. "How come I never heard about it then?"

"We weren't in Avonlea at the time, so folks really don't know. Dad was in a special hospital called a sanatorium in Alberta. He was so close to death when I healed him."

"You didn't try before?"

"I did, it never worked until right up to the end."

Davy pulled his line, finding an undersized fish. He quietly unhooked the creature and threw it back. The rising sunshine caught his rumpled hair, a moment in time etched with child-like innocence.

"Maybe you couldn't do it until your father was no longer your father."

Gilbert lifted his eyebrow considering. "What do you mean?"

"I sat next to Momma when she died," Davy said. "Her spirit filled the room. Dora and I could feel how happy she was. She was no longer sick. The body on the bed was just a body, it wasn't her anymore. She was elsewhere."

A chill went down his spine as he processed Davy's words. Was it possible that his father had died and he, restored his body like a resurrection? Gilbert shook his head in disagreement. _No!_ _He was not the Christ._ Marcus, before he had transferred schools, spoke of a patient that claimed a near-death experience. The patient said he had died, but, once the patient's body was sutured, his soul was able to go back. A body could be fixed and then a soul returned. Was it that simple? So simple, a child could see the answer when no one else could?

* * *

"Anne, you're doing it again," Gilbert nudged her awake from over the bundling board. Anne pushed his hand away and inadvertently slapped the sixteen-inch high barrier dividing the mattress in two.

"Ouch!"

"Shh, it's three in the morning. What were you dreaming about, because it made no sense to me."

Anne lifted a corner of the curtain to let moonshine into the room and propped herself up. Gilbert also moved to sit up to make the talking easier.

"I don't remember," Anne whispered. "What did I say this time?"

"You said you were sorry for lying to me."

"Oh," Anne said. "I remember now, honestly Gilbert, it's nothing but a crazy dream."

"You said that last time we bundled, clearly something bothers you. Just tell me so you can have peace."

Anne sighed into the darkness, whispering. "It's just about my own dumb insecurities. Gilbert, sometimes I think I'm not the right girl for you." She couldn't look at him so she stared straight ahead into the shadows which curtained them from the rest of the room.

"How can you think that Anne?" Gilbert answered, hurt.

"It's easy actually," Anne's voice flickered with nerves. "I have serious doubts about my ability to give you a child. My lovely Diana, who's the healthiest woman I know, struggles so with being pregnant, what hope is there for me? So, I'm sorry Gilbert. I do think at times, you've bet on the wrong horse."

Anne could hear him swallow and knew the exact pitch he would use in response. "Anne, if something was wrong with your health, don't you think it would cry out to me, such that I could never ignore it?" Anne then felt his hand on her shoulder.

"Yes, I know that, Gil."

"Do you want to know for certain? I can hold your hand and examine you, look deeper."

"No, Gilbert. Your powers should be spent other ways."

"My offer stands, but, I'm guessing there are things in your past causing these doubts. Maybe you should tell me, as you seem pestered by them."

Gilbert's breath stopped short from a full exhale as Anne slowly turned her fragile, silhouetted face to him. The shadow slowly pulled away showing her gray eyes and pink lips. The August moonshine made her soft and vulnerable in a way that he had never before seen. "Last year I told you I was a young girl when I had my first cycle. I was not Gil. In fact, I was so late in blooming I was contemplating a visit to Dr. Spencer." Anne hedged. "So I do have my doubts on my ability to keep up my end of bringing life into the world. I've been fighting an uphill battle for years. Should I stop there?"

Gilbert scratched his head, it was an uncomfortable topic for her to discuss. If she only knew the conversations he had at medical school, she wouldn't pause to tell him, but he didn't press her this time. "If you're willing to talk about it, I'm willing to listen. How old were you?"

"Seventeen."

"Oh, I can't believe that."

"Well, it's true. I was teaching school when it happened, luckily I noticed in time. The sad part was, I had no one to talk to about it, and no one to celebrate with either."

"You could have told me."

Anne laughed. "I don't think so, besides, you were in White Sands."

"Well, maybe I can understand why you wouldn't have mentioned it to me, but what about Diana or Ruby or Jane?"

"No. That wasn't possible. Gilbert, I had lied to them years before. I was sick and tired of playing catch-up and made up a story about becoming a woman back when the other girls were experiencing this very significant event for real. I never dreamed I would have to wait and wait for my own turn. I waited so long there were moments I wondered if it would ever happen."

"Did you ever see Dr. Spencer? Or Dr. Blair?"

Anne shook her head. "No"

"Why not?"

"I already knew the reason. Gilbert, I've always been thin but when I came to Green Gables I was positively scrawny. I was a skeleton with a layer of skin stretched over me. It literally took me six years to catch-up physically. My body is a wreck from being hungry for so long, I worry it doesn't work right. That's my nightmare. When you asked me to imagine our children, I haven't stopped. I want to do that for you so much, but I don't think I can."

Gilbert frowned. "Anne, of course, I want children, but you've forgotten, I made you imagine them as a device to help you understand what it meant to be a Blythe. I wasn't trying to tell you that procreation was the end goal. The number one thing I want is to just be with you." He massaged the back of her neck. "I can't imagine my life without you in it. I love you. I can't say it enough."

Anne scooted as close as she could to the board so she could almost lean on him. "It's just when I'm asleep, all those worries are unbound. They stomp through my head and come out as nightmares."

Gilbert continued to reassure Anne with his touch. "Well, I don't want you to have nightmares about it. You're healthy Anne. I would know the second that you weren't, I'm sure of it."

"And what would you do if I were in trouble and you weren't there?"

"Now that's my nightmare." His voice would low and husky, overridden with real worry. "If you were hurt and I couldn't help you, I'm not sure exactly what I would do."

* * *

A wayward, orange butterfly zipped before the path of a two-horse vehicle. Its flight had caught the eye of the red-headed, petite driver of the buckboard. Anne Shirley commanded the bay and the sorrel with more confidence and vibrato than strength. Next to her was a dark-haired woman, wearing a sharp blue dress, with puffs of lace at her throat and short sleeves and matching hat. The road was pitching up and down with the landscape. When the driver let her eyes drift, following the butterfly's projection, she could see the contrasting colors of late summer, the lush greens of the fields, the red dirt roads like arteries, and the blue sky. If she squinted her eyes she could also see the coast along the north, beyond the orchards of cherries, pears, and apples that grew in the good soil of the rolling hills.

Anne Shirley looked to her friend Helen as they continued along the path to Bright River. The summer sun was not too hot, but Helen remained retreated under a hat, while Anne allowed her straw hat to slide off and hang on its strings. Since Helen had lost her powers, she had taken to wearing hats again. There were no more random visions, no more minds to read, and therefore, no more migraines to suffer. It was a blessing, she supposed.

"Oh, Helen! Just behold the exquisite palette of colors before us. I think Prince Edward Island is the most beautiful place on earth," Anne said, trying to get Helen Blythe to smile.

"Yes, it's pretty, that's true."

Helen wasn't even trying. Instead, she continued to look behind her, she was always looking back now.

Gilbert had tried to tell Anne that Helen wasn't adjusting well to being ordinary, to which Anne dismissed saying, "Helen could never be so, with or without the Blythe magic." Gilbert was worried for Helen since the emotional shock that caused her powers to fail, but he wasn't telling Anne quite everything. His urgency did not match the rather thin story.

Privately, Anne thought perhaps losing her powers _might be_ a good thing for her. The demands of others around her no longer choked her own thoughts, for so much of what she did was done from outside dictation. Now she could hear herself think and she could spend her energies on helping herself, as opposed to being enslaved to other worries.

"Helen, just over that hill is the school where Gilbert taught," Anne pointed out. "He was quite liked there."

"White Sands?"

"Yes, that's right!"

"Hmmm"

The sorrel neighed and slapped his tail in the bay's direction. Anne shook her head as Helen withdrew again.

"Helen, one of the things I love about you is that you always answer honestly. If I were to ask you something I've wondered about for the last few months, will you do me the honor of answering me so?"

"If I answer, it will be truthful," Helen carefully replied.

"Well, when Gilbert told me about the legacy, he didn't have his powers. He said he didn't care that he had lost them, but watching you since Christmas, well, I have to think he may have been lying to me."

Anne urged the horses forward to gain momentum for the next big hill.

"He told you that?" Helen said surprised. "No, Bertie was devastated, Anne. I was fourteen years old and I would go and talk to him every night about it. He missed his powers, I had to keep reminding him he chose to sacrifice them for his father, a sacrifice of love."

"And you know for sure that's how he lost his powers?" Anne asked. "It wouldn't have been because his father died, and he lost them. Like you lost your powers when Lynn passed away?" Anne grimaced as she heard herself say something so illogical. If Gilbert lost his powers because his father died, how could he have healed him?

Helen gave Anne a strange look. "I felt a burst of energy before the final collapse. Still, it doesn't make sense."

"Unless time does curl on itself, and there were a few moments in suspense for it to happen." Anne pondered.

"No," Helen answered pragmatically. "I don't think it's that complicated. Bertie lost his powers because he tried to do something he shouldn't. He pushed too hard past a block and it cost him dearly. Maybe, I did lose my powers because of grief, like Bertie regained his because of love. But, I doubt there is just one way in a world of magic for these things to happen. It's a place which has no rules."

"Why did Gilbert lie to me about not caring that he had lost his abilities?"

"I encouraged him to keep telling himself it didn't matter, and eventually, he believed it to be true. I think we've all done that trick on ourselves."

Anne did not respond immediately. The poor team received a lashing when she urged the reins.

"Is that an underhanded comment on Charlie?"

"I was thinking of something else, but I suppose it's true for him too. I tell myself that I care for him. And I do want to love him, _I do_ , but, my heart just doesn't quite follow. Of course, I like him and he's been such a help with the shoppe. I'm excited to have a few employees now. I have time off, which is heaven! And soon I will move to Carmody for a bigger place with my own apartment. That would not have happened without his business plan."

"He's awfully involved with your business," Anne commented. "Honestly Helen, I find him so arrogant at times, I'm very worried for you. If he were to suddenly try and be…."

Helen stared back at Anne with a furrow in between her eyebrows, defending him. "A what?"

"A _Sloane_ I suppose."

"And what does that mean, exactly?" Helen truly didn't understand what the problem was with the Sloanes. Was it more a statement on his protruded eyes that no one could help, least of all Charlie.

Anne was vexed because Helen had a point. Even Mrs. Lynde and Marilla were keen to say that the Sloanes were an honest, upright family if one could avoid their Sloane-ish ways. "What makes you resist him? I suppose your answer is mine."

"I'm not sure, it's just a gut instinct," Helen said. "And then there's the fact I'm not very fond of men as a rule."

"Of course, there's always that," Anne answered. "He knows about your powers."

"Yes, and the lack of them."

"And what did he say?"

"Oh, he said, 'easy come easy go'. He did belittle it." Helen sighed, "I was not pleased."

Anne turned her head and delivered a smirk that said, S _ee what I mean?_ "I suppose you've told him everything then, about Gilbert too?"

"No, I have not. He's not very interested _,_ though I've given him a candle, he refuses to light a match. If things progress, I may have to make a point. I haven't decided. It will affect Gilbert too."

Anne gripped the leather reins harder. Her head hurt just thinking about it. Charlie always had to have his way. Would Helen be able to stand up to him? She wasn't made of spitfire and ginger, but she wasn't the type to be docile either.

"I'd feel a lot better about you and Charlie if you could show him some more backbone!" Anne said. "I know you well enough to understand you're going to be the person you are, regardless of what Charlie Sloane says, but you do yourself no favors by buying into his speeches that he knows more than you. You like being pushed around."

"Is that what you think? That I just let things happen to me?" Helen leaned forward to challenge Anne.

Anne's gray eyes challenged hers. "Yes, I suppose it is what I think! I'm sorry Helen, I don't mean to hurt you, but I much rather see you decide to be with Charlie Sloane than he decides it for you."

"Anne, I want him to know me, I want him to understand who I am, what it means to be a Blythe. I don't care about being swept off my feet or anything, but I do want the friendship so. There is something really nice about being friends with a man."

"Then explain to him!" Anne said before she could think. Did she really mean that? Even Gilbert continued to have reservations about Charlie getting too close to knowing about his powers. Anne shut her eyes in quiet prayer. _Gilbert please forgive me._ "If you want to know my opinion, you should tell him everything. It's only then you'll rediscover yourself"

* * *

Anne adjusted her own hat as she went up the depot steps at Bright River. Helen was behind her a few paces, having secured the team at a post and feeding the bay a carrot.

Almost alone on the platform stood a mid-sized man, about ten years Anne's senior. Anne slowed down to allow Helen to catch-up, just as the man in question started to clumsily fumble over his own feet.

"What do you suppose he's wearing?" Anne asked Helen as the figure recovered balance.

"It's a seersucker suit and they're very popular in hot climates," Helen said. "Never worked with the fabric myself, but a former slave I employed once back home knew the fabric well enough."

By this time the gentleman saw the women approaching and relief washed over his angular face as he recognized Anne.

"Hello Miss Shirley," Eugene Felder bowed to Anne and kissed her hand. "I am rather surprised to see you here instead of Gilbert. Are fetching responsibilities beneath him now, for the winner of the Excellence Award? I would have flowers for you had I known."

"Oh, are you still raging about that?" Anne asked with a bright smile. "Helen, come here." Anne grabbed her hand bringing her around for introductions. Before Anne could say anything, Eugene was tipping his hat.

"We've met before, but I'm not sure of your name," Eugene said with a little reservation, eyeing Helen curiously with his pale blue eyes.

"I don't think we have met." Helen stood smugly. She tilted her face ever so slightly.

"Oh, you're a Blythe, aren't you?" Eugene recognized the prominent Blythe chin. "I see a bit of resemblance between you and Gil! I've gotten quite good at making such connections."

"Yes, you're right! Gilbert and I are cousins," Helen smiled as Eugene also bent to kiss her hand. "I'm Helen Blythe."

"Ah, another reason to envy my roommate, for he has the best looking friends and relatives, and then he's still young! I'm Eugene Felder of 'here and there' and so very pleased to meet you, Miss Blythe!"

Helen keenly felt a broad smile spread across her chin. She only noticed this of herself because those muscles had not been used for a long time. Eugene was nothing to look at, with bald patches growing under his hat and his round spectacles, but his manners were completely warm and inviting, and then there was his comical, bumbling way. Overall he seemed very easy to talk to. Eugene grabbed his satchel and followed the ladies to the buggy that waited.

 **to be continued**


	12. Allies (Part 3)

Timeline - The summer holidays between The First Year and The Second Year of _Anne of Windy Poplars._

* * *

 **Chapter 12: Allies (Part 3)**

"No, nope!" Eugene said as he was offered more food by a generous Geraldine Blythe. Mrs. Blythe didn't listen. Gilbert's mother was circling the table, loading up plates with scalloped potatoes. Eugene leaned forward and breathed in the aroma of homemade food. It was simple fare for the most part. "This is quite enough, a feast for a king-really, lobsters and potatoes! I should start practicing my bow and this fair lady to my right should practice her curtsy. Royalty must be expected for I am just as proud to eat a tuna salad sandwich."

"Ew!" Helen said, "That sounds gross." She smacked her lips and tried to cleanse her palate. Helen seemed to wake up a bit in the presence of their company and was more her animated self.

Gilbert remained quiet as he employed his knife and fork. His father put his hand over his dish, telling his wife that he had had enough to eat. He rather enjoyed watching Eugene and Helen interact. Eugene certainly tried to be a charmer, unlike the rather self-serving Charlie Sloane. Charlie would have asked for thirds.

"I think Gil and I would be starved without those sandwiches," Eugene answered Helen as he peppered his food a tiny bit. "We're so busy at school we eat out of a sack half the time. And what would we have done without all the crates of apples you shipped to us? Thank you!"

"This farm is littered with apples!" Gilbert's father, John answered. "The markets are still in a slump. It wasn't worth pickin' this year. So, giving away a crate or two didn't really hurt us nothin'. We made up money with the livestock."

Geraldine sat next to her husband and gave him a look that may have suggested not to share their financial worries.

"What was Johns Hopkins like?" Gilbert asked to change the subject.

Eugene sat back and pushed his spectacles up the bridge of his freckled nose. He had been recruited to speak for their women's health symposium. While there, he enrolled in a summer obstetrics semester. It was the reason why he couldn't come directly when Gilbert telegraphed earlier in the summer.

"The medicine there was extremely good, of course, I knew it would be." Eugene brightly said. "And I think I should like to return after I graduate from Redmond. There's a job waiting for me, of sorts. The Chancellor approached me about being a regular guest speaker. Lately, I feel as if I should work to educate the educators; although, residency does appeal to me too. By the way," Eugene smiled widely for his achievement. "I'm now certified to practice in the area of gynecology and obstetrics, in the state of Maryland anyway."

"So you are Dr. Felder now?" Gilbert voiced genuine surprised. "You've been sitting on that one all day."

Helen turned to face him as well, seeming impressed.

"Well, a place like Johns Hopkins isn't going to allow just anyone to come in and speak, so I suspect, they reviewed my published papers and postmortem research and hammered out something just for me. They ran those papers through a few boards of approval, and like socks in a washtub, I came out clean. So, yes, I'm a specialist-doctor, but no, I haven't truly earned a general degree of medicine, although, it's understood I will."

"So do I call you Doctor Felder now?" Helen asked.

"No," Eugene said, leveling his blue eyes to hers. "That's not necessary, I rather prefer informalities with friends."

"Well, I should be going," Gilbert interrupted, feeling a chemistry brewing that had nothing to do with him. He put a little hope in it. "Now, Eugene, are you sure you'll be alright with my folks and Helen? Things can be rearranged if you prefer. Helen could go over to Green Gables tonight and you can have the guest room here, instead of my room."

"Oh, I wouldn't dream of interfering with your regularly scheduled bundling session with Miss Shirley." Eugene grinned from ear to ear and Gilbert blushed.

"Nothing like that happens," Gilbert gruffly said and then he about choked realizing his mother was in the room still.

"You know, even I have to admit, the bundling bed is sort of a peculiar relic," Helen said as she stood to clear plates. She noticed Uncle John staring at her after she leaned over to remove Eugene's service. Eugene's hand had brushed hers as he attempted to gracefully drop his napkin.

"Oops sorry, Miss Blythe."

"No harm was done, Mr. Felder," Helen replied. She continued to move around the table collecting empty plates. "Bertie, can I walk with you a little bit on your way?"

"Hurry," Gilbert said as he grabbed his jacket.

* * *

"Bertie, slow down," Helen wrapped a shawl around her arms and stepped outside. "I need to talk to you for just a second. I need to prepare you."

Gilbert stopped walking and waited for his slightly older cousin to catch up to him. "Is this about Charlie?"

"Well, in fact, it is," Helen held a stitch in her side. "I think Charles means to propose to me before the week is out. Before he leaves for New Brunswick."

Gilbert's hazel eyes flickered and he tried not to show concern over whatever intentions Charlie had. "Charlie's not the right choice for you. Keep flirting with Eugene."

"Oh, I'm very sure that's nothing!" Helen answered, "He just likes to lay it on thick, doesn't he?"

"He hasn't broken a single thing in front of you, I think there could be hope." Gilbert shrugged, "Well, you could be right. He is a rather determined flirt at best. Even so, Charlie is not the right person for you. Is _he_?"

"Well, I know Charles' proposal won't be based on romantic sentiments. He seems to understand that I'm not built the regular way. And I've always known that if I marry, it probably wouldn't be for love. But a girl needs someone to support her and I would trust him to do that."

"You and I have very different views of marriage. It's a hard institution, love will help it endure." Gilbert answered. "So, are you going to tell him about _me_ then? You want to tell him about our magic. Is that why we're talking."

"Is it really fair for him not to know about _all_ of us?" Helen replied. "He's put enough feelers out I am fairly sure he does mean to propose. He has to know what that means to become part of this family."

Gilbert put his hands on his hips and looked up to the heavens where Orion stood. "I still think it's a bad idea."

"Gilbert, even Anne encouraged me to be wholly honest with Charles."

"She did what?"

"She said it would be the only way I could rediscover myself."

"Helen, Anne sometimes says and does things rather impulsively. I think she may have done so with you when she said that." Gilbert attempted to explain away. "Please don't do anything you think you might regret. I love her to pieces but she's not you. You must make up your own mind on this."

"This is my decision," Helen answered. "And I will give things proper consideration before responding if my hunch is correct."

Gilbert couldn't help but shake his head. "For me, please make Charlie wait for an answer. He likes to be in control. Observe how he handles waiting for your reply. You'll know more about what you're getting into if you do."

* * *

When Anne came downstairs from her bedroom to join Gilbert on her side of the bundling bed, Gilbert was already there waiting for her. She blushed the color of red roses as she saw him standing at the foot of the bed in nothing but his breeches.

"You're not wearing your nightshirt?" Anne asked as she turned to shut the door.

"No, I honestly hate that thing, and it's sort of hot lately." Gilbert studied how the board was attached, in the low light, bending down at a certain point, trying to take a closer look.

Anne placed the flickering candle on the nightstand and then removed her robe. She hung it on the door hook before stepping to the foot of the bed herself.

"Gilbert, what are you doing?" Anne asked him.

"I want to move the board," Gilbert admitted. He ran a hand over his torso, fluffing up some dark chest hair in the process. Anne diverted her eyes before he caught her looking. "I was trying to figure out if we could just slide it down a little bit, that way we don't have to sit up when we talk. Looks like its bolted down."

"No, no," Anne said. "It's just a board, and it rests in slots along the head and foot boards. All you have to do is lift it up."

"Tried to," Gilbert said, now scratching his head.

Anne chuckled as she went to the bed, leaned over a bit and wiggled the board up along the groove. It was really a two person job and she struggled. When she looked back to Gilbert for assistance she caught him staring at her hips.

"Gil?"

He lifted her eyes to hers.

"Sorry,"

He turned away for a moment, collecting himself.

"Anne, I don't think we should attempt to bundle without the board. I was just trying to make it easier..."

"...to talk?"

She pushed the board back into place and then sat down on the mattress.

"Yeah."

"It is rather hot in here."

When Gilbert turned around he watched Anne extract herself from her gown, revealing her limbs blossoming from white drawers and a lacy chemise. Her corset displayed a slender waist. They stood and looked at each other for a while, obviously liking what they saw, and not apologizing for it. Gilbert soon had to retreat into the covers and Anne went to her side after blowing out the candle.

Gilbert heard a soft thud hit the floor.

"What was that?"

"My corset," Anne answered. "I feel a bit swollen, it hurts sometimes."

Gilbert tried not to think too much about that.

"Anne," he whispered.

"What?

"You told Helen to tell Charlie Sloane about my powers?

"Of course you would mention this right after I blew the candle out," Anne complained. "Looking at you crossly will do me no good."

"You admit it?"

"Gilbert darling, I did not tell Helen anything so specific. She was frustrated with Charlie's disinterest in her lost abilities and so I advised her that her only option would be to force the situation. She's got to stand her ground with him and if it means spilling everything, so be it."

"It was a mistake." Gilbert sounded disappointed.

Anne drew her breath slowly, "Perhaps, but she's got to make some if she's ever going to rediscover herself. You realize she's spent most of her life doing the will of others because she heard their thoughts over her own. Once she starts listening to her voice, life will be a lot less scary and depressing for her."

"Helen's not that spineless."

"Are you sure on that?"

The handgun he had thrown into the ocean came to mind.

When no answer came from Gilbert Anne added, "I rest my case."

"I'm not ceding your point, exactly," Gilbert answered. "I really do not want Charlie to know. Somehow he'll make it all about him."

"I know that Gil, but we have no right to dictate whom Helen associates with, we're not Helen keepers." Anne pointed out. "The fact is Charlie has helped her and they are friends. She wants to grow her friendship with him and she cannot do that and veil the reasons for her sorrows. How would you like it if you were told you couldn't share this huge part of your life with someone you care for?"

"Maybe this all won't matter anyway," Gilbert unpredictably said with an air of defeat. The sudden concession surprised Anne. They could usually banter like this for hours, days even.

Anne heard Gilbert sigh and then, she felt the bed adjust as he removed his weight and heard his footsteps approach. He pulled back her covers. "Scoot over, please." Soon he was crawling in bed next to her. He was on his left side: Anne was on her right. Her back supported by the board. It was a tight squeeze and legs and arms started to naturally tangle.

Gilbert waited for his heart to slow down. The scent of her hair entered his nose. He had never held her like this before.

"Anne," Gilbert whispered low and quiet into her ear. He put his hand on her side, feeling the grooves of her ribs. "I've got something to tell you and you're not going to like it much."

"Gilbert now is not the time to make a romantic move on me," Anne whispered back and contrarily move her leg to rest over his, allowing him to come closer if he'd like.

"Anne, please listen to me," Gilbert continued to whisper while stroking her side and arm. "I do not plan on coming back to Avonlea after this summer, except for a short visit here and there. When we marry, our home will be in or near Glen St Mary, where no one will know about my powers, and we'll get a new start."

The words hit Anne like daggers. His arms wrapped around her as she started to shake in dismay. Her hand went to his face, where she held the contours of his cheek, feeling his very stubbly shadow. "Gilbert, what do you mean that you're.. .that _we're_ leaving Avonlea? This is my home, the only place that I have ever loved. And you want to take me away from it?"

"Uncle David would like me to take over his practice when I am done with school. We'll still be on our island, but our home will be the one we make together. Avonlea is much too small of a community to hang a shingle. I can't support us here."

"You should have discussed this with me first." Anne's voice was hoarse. She tried to push him away, but her strength was no match for his. She cried into his chest as he rubbed her back in slow, circular motions.

"Anne, this is a fantastic opportunity," Gilbert reassured while wiping her tears from her cheeks with his thumb. "I can hit the ground running at full speed because the name Blythe is already established."

"Gilbert, Avonlea is home, my first ever home," Anne said. "You really have no idea what that means to me, do you?"

"I do know, I do Anne. And you and I will take all the beautiful things of Avonlea with us. You make friends so easily, and we'll have guests over all the time. I am not going to neglect you, I promise you that, especially when we're free to be husband and wife. There will be days and nights you'll be positively sick of my attention."

"But in the meantime, I get starved for it? Why aren't you coming back next summer?"

"I'll be working out West," Gilbert said. "I need a down payment on the practice, the railroad is cutting through the Rockies. They need all sorts. I can be a company nurse, it won't be terrible labor."

"A whole summer without seeing you? I can't bear the thought." Anne was close to sobbing, "What about my salary, take it if it means I get to see you."

"Anne," Gilbert stroked her hair. "Thank you. I was counting on your income as part of the down payment, but it won't be enough. I still must work."

"No," Anne grunted. She didn't know what was worse, Gilbert making such an agreement with her money or the fact that she would miss him terribly. Her heart gave the answer. "Gilbert, listen to me. I _need_ you. I have to see you, be with you, smell you, touch you. It will be a dreadful two years without you—even with the short holidays."

"Anne, I want to see you too, but we need a little separation. Look how intimate we are right now, and we're not yet married." Gilbert was holding her body tight to his now. Desire built inside of him as his hands slipped down her back. "Anne, I can feel every delicious curve on your body and surely you know how it's driving me wild. You're no fool. Please believe me when I tell you I love you more than my life itself. I want to make a home for us. It may not seem like it, I am putting _you_ first. Just two more years and then together, married!"

When the tears stopped falling, Gilbert forcibly removed himself from Anne and returned to his side of the board. Neither of them slept well the rest of the night.

* * *

Mr. and Mrs. Fred Wright held hands as Mr. Eugene Felder returned back to their bedroom. Fred caught Diana's eyes and gave a fleeting grin as he squeezed her hand. It was the moment of truth. Would their expected child make it to delivery? Diana had begged Fred to allow the exam, as demoralizing as she knew it would be. Mr. Felder asked Fred to "stop being a caveman" and come into the nineteenth century and its modern medicine. The examination was explained and then, Mr. Felder said that his own wife's life might have been saved if she had had the same exam. Delivery would have been done surgically. Eugene's haunted voice convinced Fred that perhaps, in this case, he was in the wrong.

Fred sat next to Diana as her pregnant condition was assessed. Given the circumstances, Fred felt things couldn't have gone better. Mr. Felder had clearly done the exam before and was quick and efficient. The bedside manner he displayed to both mother and father was reassuring too. Still, Fred had to clamp down his urge to push this guy away from his wife when he suggested she separate her legs.

Fred helped Diana dress after it was done. They waited for over half an hour, resting on the bed talking about little things. The pink paint he ordered from Blair's had arrived. Fred thought the wee one was a girl. Diana felt it was a boy again. No matter, there would be plenty of paint for the baby's room as long as there was a baby. They sat there in dreaded anticipation. Mr. Felder knew well enough the couple needed time to reset and decompress if he was going to be heard.

"May I sit down?" Mr. Felder finally asked as he pulled up a chair from Diana's vanity set. The skirt that was decoratively attached to the table slid down and items fell. Mr. Felder panicked to pick up hairbrushes and talcum powder puffs before positioning himself in front of the couple.

"Of course," Mr. Wright said. Fred wanted to say more, but instead, he kissed the temple of Diana's head as he felt her start to shake with nerves.

"I'll give you the good news first," Mr. Felder said. "Mrs. Wright, I think you're as healthy as they come and the baby is doing just fine, but there has to be a reason for the miscarriages in the past. So, let's see if we can figure it out. When did you have your first miscarriage?"

"We think possibly very early in the marriage, before baby Fred," Diana said.

Mr. Felder nodded. "That's one."

"And twice for sure since baby Fred."

"And when was your son born?" Mr. Felder asked.

"Our son was born early July last year," Mr. Wright answered.

Mr. Felder tried to control his arching eyebrow. Newlyweds were so persistent towards the marriage act. "I would think it's safe to say that whatever the reason for these spontaneous abortions, they happen extremely early in the gestational period. That's good news, as you're several months along, so you're out of the danger zone."

The couple smiled and sighed with relief. They shared a quick kiss of happy affection.

"Also, can you tell," Diana asked. "Will the baby be breech again?"

"Breech?" Mr. Felder was surprised. "Your son was a breech presentation?"

"Yes, the midwife knew what to do."

"You were lucky!" Mr. Felder strongly voiced. "I do wonder if the awkward position of your son's delivery might have caused internal scarring in your uterus. If a baby cannot latch onto the uterine wall completely because of scar material, that could explain those last two."

Mrs. Wright turned pale as she put her hand before her eyes. "Darling Fred, I'm sorry. I guess you were right, it is my fault after all. You and Dr. Spencer were right."

"What?" Mr. Felder said horrified. "Fault? No, there's no fault involved here. Well, I suppose that's not quite true. It's your son's fault if my suspicion is correct. Shall we fetch him and give him a good spanking, teach him a lesson?"

"No," Fred said alarmed.

"So you do see how absurd it is to place blame on anyone for a miscarriage. I apologize if Dr. Spencer gave an archaic medical opinion. It's my mission to revamp the medical world with better-informed family doctors. You two are equally yoked to this child. Mother cannot be without a father: Father cannot be without a mother. Yes, Mrs. Wright has the pleasure of knowing the baby first in her role, but it doesn't make the child any less yours, does it, Mr. Wright."

"I suppose not," Fred muttered.

"I'm glad we agree," Mr. Felder continued, "I would recommend also going to a hospital for delivery. I know you live in a rural setting and that may be difficult, but I will encourage it the same."

Diana bobbed her head in agreement. "We can arrange it, as long as there's not too much snow."

"I can get someone to look at our sleigh, get it fixed up." Fred mused. Fred's face colored slightly, as he stared back at the balding man with round glasses. "Nothing is more important to me than my Diana, so, we'll do whatever you say."

"I'm so glad to hear it! I can tell you two are quite in love yet," Mr. Felder said. "I do hope that you'll write to me and let me know what happens, or send word through Gilbert."

Mr. Felder then smiled kindly at the two and returned the chair to the vanity without additional fumbling. He exited the bedroom feeling slightly triumphant.

* * *

Anne and Gilbert volunteered to watch baby Fred as Eugene met with Diana and Fred Wright. The thirteen-month-old was getting into everything. He was running from room to room on his chubby, wobbly legs under the watchful eyes of his parents' friends. The boy was not shy in the least. (All and all, an amazing attribute considering his parentage.) It was as if the child knew he could rule the roost with his cute, round face and dimply smile. Eventually, the little one settled down in Diana's parlor, investigating certain animals from the crocheted menagerie his Aunt Minnie May made. He tossed those animals around with laughs that sounded like popping bubbles.

Anne and Gilbert retreated to the sofa where she leaned on him, resting her head on his shoulder. She was still adjusting to the news he whispered so intimately the night before. Gilbert felt a little of her dismay still, as he rubbed her arm. He thought he might apologize, but, he wasn't sorry. He was confident of the decision, and deep down, Anne knew leaving Avonlea was likely.

When the child saw that his playful antics were not getting proper recognition, Fred Jr. attempted to crawl up and join them. He steadied himself with his hands against Gilbert's knees and he grabbed for things without regard for what they were.

Anne watched Gilbert's reaction to the little guy, like most men, Gilbert tended to distance himself from children this young. Li'l Fred though was accustomed to his very affectionate Daddy. Fred Senior always could be persuaded to give his son a lift and a hug whenever he asked. Junior displayed this same expectation to Gilbert with his cherubic face and black eyes. He stared at Gilbert and held his grabby hands up and cried. "Daaaa"

Anne laughed as Gilbert picked up the boy in terrified delight, trying to explain to him, "You know, I'm really not your father." Gilbert stood and paced around the room with the kid. His hazel eyes kept looking at Anne, hopeful for rescue, but only found an amusing smile flashing back at him. Every time he tried to set him down, little Fred would bawl.

Finally, Gilbert understood, as his olfactory senses made a report. "Diaper!" Gilbert tried to push the tot into Anne's arms. The boy screamed disappointed.

"But he likes you," Anne said. "Have you never changed a diaper before?"

The sudden fear crossing Gilbert's face told her, "No."

"Fine, I'll help you," Anne chuckled.

Gilbert watched Anne perform a task that she had done hundreds of times over and he was sort of appalled at how briskly and confidently she cleaned the boy's privates. While they scrambled to find a clean diaper from somewhere in the house, Anne muttered something that did not escape Gilbert's ears.

"I can't believe they circumcised you after I told your mother not to," Anne said tickling the diaper-free belly of the one-year-old.

Gilbert stepped in and said very lightly, "It's pretty normal for parents to do that to their baby boys. It's biblical after all."

Anne's eyes flashed up to Gilbert's as she took the clean diaper from his hand. "Maybe, but I think it's barbaric. The Hammond's didn't do this to their boys. I don't see why it's necessary."

"Well, you know, the covenant," Gilbert said, trying to be light about it still.

"That's the _old_ covenant. I think it's mean and cruel. It has to be painful," Anne said sympathetically. "There's nothing wrong with how God makes you, why interfere?"

She didn't see Gilbert run his hand through his wavy hair or the sly smile start to grow on his face. He stood behind her amazed. "Well, Anne. I..."

"Are we seriously having this conversation _now_?" Anne sensed an argument as she finished pinning the diaper tight. Anne turned to Gilbert, "I suppose you're going to push for this with our sons."

"They have the right to be like any other boy around them."

"Who's going to know unless the boy tells someone?" Anne fairly asked as she walked to deposit the used diaper in the pail.

Li'l Fred was waddling around again and made a beeline back to the parlor where he found a yellow tiger cat from the same collection of toys. He bashed the poor plush toy down to the floor. Anne went to follow him and Gilbert continued talking.

"Anne, remember how jealous you were because you didn't have a dress with puffed sleeves. Now, imagine you're the only boy with.." Gilbert rolled his eyes. The analogy was too good to pass..." a puff."

Anne's face pinked. "I hardly think it's the same thing, Gilbert."

"But Anne...just listen to me," Gilbert held her shoulders. The apples of his cheeks indicated a huge smile suppressed. His eyes grew quite large as he slowly and sheepishly said, "Anne, you have no idea what a stigma it is not to be circumcised. I mean, think about it, if you were the only one..."

"Gilbert John Blythe, are you saying what I think you are?" Anne said with such surprise, she completely forgot how improper it was to ask something so private and personal, even from her fiancé. Her cheeks grew hot as he slowly responded.

"I haven't said anything one way or the other," Gilbert licked his dry lips. "I'm merely pointing out there are societal expectations for little boys and not..."

"Just tell me, Gil!" Anne begged. "I tell you everything about me, don't I?"

 _That was true._

Gilbert finally relented as he felt himself blush to the top of his ears, "Fine, you've got me, but _please_ don't tell anyone! I would rather everyone find out about my powers than any other person know that I'm not..." Gilbert rolled his eyes, "You know."

"How did your parents, _your parents_ mind you, not see to _that_ when you were a baby."

"They thought it would hamper my other abilities if I were to be. It's traditional, but I doubt true."

"Oh wow! Even I couldn't imagine that connection!" Anne was in awe at Gilbert's confession and she squeezed his waist. "Thank you, Gilbert for sharing this with me."

"Well, you were going to find out _eventually_ ," Gilbert admitted. "You're laughing now, but you may not find it so funny later. I was a little worried you'd be horrified. I was actually considering the procedure."

"Oh, no!" Anne shook her head. "Don't do it, Gil! There's no good reason for it." Anne said as they returned to the sofa. Anne pulled Fred Jr. up into her lap this time and the little guy started to relax into a nap.

"I wasn't seriously considering it. It was just, you know, a thought."

Anne looked at the small child in her arms as his head twisted and turned in an attempt to get his bearings. "So, your folks must have known you had powers when you were born."

"Mother was pretty sick when she carried me," Gilbert said. "That's a sign of the legacy passing down, especially when it passes paternally."

"Wonderful!" Anne's voice was thick with sarcasm. "Is that why you're an only child?"

"Probably"

Her eyes flicked to his. "Do you have any idea what the likelihood is for us having such a child?"

"There's no way of knowing. Unless Helen sees it or something like that."

Anne turned her attention at the youngster in her arms. Gilbert couldn't help but flash forward a few years. He imagined them sitting in their own home, their own son asleep in Anne's arms. It didn't matter to him if the child could or couldn't do magic. He would be theirs and that was its own beauty.

He watched Anne softly straighten the baby fine hairs of the boy and kiss his hands that still liked to cling to fingers. Gilbert knew he found in Anne a loving mother to their children. When he fell in love with Anne so long ago, he fell because of her intelligence and her beauty. He kept falling as a result of her ambition and her liveliness. But this other side of her, this care-taking quality that so many men wanted in their wives, that was something newly precious to him. Gilbert's insides crumpled thinking about how lucky he was, to find so much in his Anne.

* * *

Eugene Felder returned to the home of Mr. and Mrs. Fred Wright the next Sunday to help celebrate the one-year birthdays of two little boys, cousins Fred Wright, Jr. and Robert Wright, Jr. The August sunshine radiated down with great intensity as they all gathered on the covered porch and under the adjacent canopies. Eugene sat in a lawn chair and attempted to watch the proceedings. He found himself talking with Fred's brother Robert who sat next to him.

"Which one is yours again?" Eugene asked already knowing the answer.

Robert was a large man with light brown hair. He quietly pointed to his son, "He's there, Robbie."

The boy was fussing with toys in the clean grass between his Aunt Diana and her son. Vacantly he said, "Still can't believe it."

Eugene was polishing off a large piece of birthday cake when he turned to look at his new friend after his wondrous comment. He popped an eyebrow up to inquire.

"This is top secret, but what do you care? You're not from around here. Gertie, the boy's Ma. We weren't married you know. I was leaving for England for a year, and things got out of hand. With good-byes."

"Oh, I do understand," Eugene said with great compassion and a tinge of delight. "I'm a widower."

"It was only the one time, but I guess once is enough." Robert turned to look at Eugene. Eugene didn't look particularly embarrassed. "Am I shocking you? Folks say I'm not proper all the time."

"I'm an obstetrician. Just try and shock me."

"That's a fancy doctor, isn't it? You must be Gilbert's friend."

"Yes, I'm his roommate too. Eugene Felder."

"Please to meet you. I'm Rob Wright." They shook hands. "So, imagine coming back from your trip a year later and finding out you are a father." Robert looked at his wife Gertie, now scooping up the boy into her arms. "The surprise knocked me senseless, but in a really good way. All I want to do is make it up to her. He was born almost nine months to the day I left."

"I suppose that would be quite the surprise!" Eugene admitted. "It's too bad you couldn't be here for the birth."

"Oh, I'm so glad I wasn't." The relief was evident. "My brother Fred was ever so much better helping the cows with their calves. I always would faint or throw up when Dad would drag me into the birthing pin. Yeah. It was a good thing I wasn't here." Robert answered. "Still—I would have liked to see her pregnant with my child. You know, watch the woman you love grow with your baby. Something amazing in that thought. Gilbert delivered my son. I've heard all about it."

"Gilbert told me a little bit about it too, when we first met."

"I'm sure he omitted the magic part, right?" Robert said with a laughing smirk.

"What?"

"Oh, it's nothing!" Rob declared. "Just my humor. My attention hungry sister-in-law was present and insists that Robbie didn't breathe on his own. She claims that Gilbert somehow got him breathing, and it was done, _magically,_ of all things _._ " Robert rolled his eyes and then took a bite of cake.

"Well, I could see how it might seem that way," Eugene said, feigning disinterest. "Is she here? Which one is Josie?"

He pointed again. "She's over there by Anne Shirley, and Anne's the redhead...You know, I _really_ shouldn't be telling you all this." Robert realized. "An incredible amount of work was done to keep Gertie's pregnancy private. It's just, you know. A lot to carry."

"Don't worry about me." Eugene adjusted his hat and his glasses after standing up and stretching. "Who do I know anyway? I'm not from around here."

"Well, that's true! You're a good listener!" Robert said. "I'm sure you're going to be a fine doctor."

"Yes," Eugene said under his breath, as he walked away, "Among other things."

 **to be continued**


	13. Hero

Timeline - The summer holidays between The First Year and The Second Year of _Anne of Windy Poplars._

* * *

 **Chapter 13: Hero**

Helen Blythe tried not to appear as obvious as she felt as she sipped lemonade and waited for Charlie Sloane to arrive. She kept glancing at the red dirt road that twisted up to the Wright homestead. It was the only point of entry to the property. When he arrived, she wanted to be ready.

The porch was full of people, mostly Anne and Gilbert's childhood friends and their relatives. Helen knew the majority by now but had not really connected to anyone in particular, except perhaps, Anne Shirley. Anne had been pulled from her side as soon as they greeted. Helen fended for herself since. She tried to chit-chat with the hostess, Diana and asked if there were something she could do to help make their gathering a success. Diana sweetly smiled, "Oh, just enjoy yourself, Helen! Charlie will be by later."

Most people were pleasant to her, but it was hard to be accepted in such a tightly knit community, even after one year of residency. Some of the women wouldn't talk with her outside her shoppe. They loved her dressmaking of course but thought her odd. Helen agreed that she was a different breed of woman, the type Avonlea had never seen before. She didn't go to church regularly and she claimed herself to be a witch. Two strikes against her. The single young men wouldn't talk with her either, but that was because of Charlie Sloane. Word had gotten around that Charlie was courting Helen. In practice it was true, but they themselves had never established official parameters.

Her hopes for conversation were answered as Helen glimpsed the movement of a lone rider coming down the lane. Charlie had taken Fred's advice. The old nag, Sally, that grazed in nearby Abner Sloane's meadow, was rounded up for pony rides. The older children knew what to expect as they saw the mare coming down the lane. They ran up to Charlie and one of the boys was brought aboard. Initially, Helen thought it rather funny that Charlie was asked to provide the pony rides. Then, as the old horse came into view, she realized that the reason had more do with the horse than the owner. Sally was the most peculiar mixture of docile and sturdy.

Fred greeted Charlie at the gate before his front lawn. The hitchhiker dismounted and landed hard with a face plant. After some initial concern, the boy stood and ran off exclaiming "pony rides!" to the other children. Charlie indicated the beast needed to be watered. Fred pointed Charlie towards the barn. Charlie nodded to Fred and guided the old mare with his thighs. He then called Helen to his side with a half smile, head tilt and a flash of his googly eyes.

Helen rose from her seat. Lemonade slopped from her cup and over her hand and she wiped it on a napkin. She ran into the barn where Charlie was filling the feed trough. She panted to catch her breath.

"Helen, I don't suppose you ran into the barn just to see me?" Charlie accused her.

Helen flushed. "You got my attention to come, surely my appearance is not a surprise."

Charlie stepped away from the trough and took Helen's sticky hand into his own. She apologized for its condition but Charlie did not care. "Sit down Helen. Charlie has something to tell you."

Helen went to the bench next to the horse stall and gracefully lowered herself to a seated position.

"Helen, you know this trip that I'm going on next week. To the banker in New Brunswick."

"Yes."

"You should come with me as..." Charlie hedged. "I didn't plan on asking you this here, with the horses and cows." He looked to the rafters and a pigeon took flight. "But, I rather like knowing were closeted right now, alone together."

Helen suddenly found her feet very interesting, she saw her black toes poking out from under her brown poplin skirt.

"Helen," again, picking up her hand. "I can do great things for you if you let me. It's time we should talk about making our partnership more formal. If we were to go to the banker together engaged..."

Helen pursed her lips, uncomfortable with his attention. She felt herself turn white although she had expected as much.

"Oh, I don't know."

"Helen, you agreed that we care for each other. And I think perhaps we love each other."

Helen was not a novice to love, and whatever she felt for Charlie, it was not the unbridled passion she had felt for her girlfriend Lynn.

"Charles, I've been in love before with Lynn. We were together almost a year. I loved her so much that when she died, all my powers died with her." Helen turned her head, not meaning to hurt him. She could feel his energy change from hope to disappointment. "A marriage built on our friendship is possible, but not until you understand everything that I have suffered and everything I have lost."

"It's always about your magical powers, isn't it?" Charlie said impatiently back to her. "Why do you keep bringing this up?"

"Because I am a witch, Charles. A broken one at best, but still part of this great Blythe legacy," Helen answered. "You don't seem capable of understanding what that means. What if my powers come back? You must be ready to accept all sorts of possibilities. If I marry you, and we have children, they could be like me. Have you thought about that at all? This is a family affair."

The comment made Charlie's mouth twitch. "You mean there are others in your family, like you?"

"Well, yes, of course!" Helen said. "I told you I inherited my grandmother's powers. All of us Blythes are descended from the same line of witches. When you leave for New Brunswick, look up my sister Emily. She has the same ability I did."

"I want you to come with me still. To see this banker. I feel it very important for our mutual investment."

Helen shut her eyes to avoid rolling them. "I've told you, Charles. When my powers were strong, I could see my future up to a certain point. My powers gave me an inkling that my death awaits me out on the water. I will not risk my life. Please stop asking me to."

Charlie sat quietly trying to think out some of her absurdity. "A family affair you say. Your grandmother, your sister, you… any other Blythes I should know about?"

"Like who?"

"Maybe a cousin."

"Oh, Gilbert is different than me."

"He can't do what you could?"

Helen shook her head with a slight chuckle, "There's a terrifying thought."

Charlie shrugged. "We used to board together at school. I would be so surprised if he had any magical powers. I am sure I would have noticed it. He's never been exactly secretive or tidy."

"I'm not comfortable talking about Gilbert, Charles. The truth is Gilbert would rather you not know about all of us," Helen said. "I am not sure why, but his rationale feels incomplete."

Charlie stretched out his legs as he sat next to Helen on the bench. "It goes back to Anne," Charlie explained. "I know Gilbert better than you think. We were best friends at one point, and we both were head over heels in love with Anne. He doesn't want me close because he still perceives me as a threat. I know that's the reason."

Helen doubted this conclusion but did not argue. "You don't still care for Anne, do you?"

"Not enough to stop me from moving forward. I can't give you a better answer. Don't let Lynn stop you from moving forward either. I know you don't love me completely, not yet anyway, but I do think you care a lot for me. I am satisfied with that for now."

"Charles, I would rather not be looked at as an eventuality. If you were to propose, I would expect you to understand my answer will not be based on love. It will be based on more practical things."

"Well, I guess I won't propose, at least, not yet." Charlie helped Helen rise and they left the barn together.

* * *

"That's not what people think, Anne Shirley," Josie's sharp tongue lashed out.

Anne sucked in her anger and framed a sweet smile back. "Well, you can tell 'people' that Gilbert and I have permission from our families to bundle once and a while. And I would like to know who told you this, anyway."

Eugene Felder inched his way closer to the women in heated conversation. He really needed to chat up Miss Pye about her nephew's birth. Eugene sneaked up to Anne Shirley and accidentally—always on accident, dropped his hat.

"Oh, excuse me, Miss Shirley," Eugene dusted his hat after reclaiming it from the ground. The two women were standing as guards before the dessert table. He pushed his hat back on, "Your conversation distracted me. I do hope I may be allowed to express an opinion on this topic, Miss..." He stopped realizing he technically had not been introduced to Josie Pye yet. He looked at Anne for help.

"Mr. Felder," Anne started to make the necessary introduction. She was grateful for the interruption as Josie judged the newcomer with piercing eyes. "Please meet Miss Josephine Pye. She is an old _friend_. We went to school together."

Josie was not impressed with what she saw.

"I am Mr. Eugene Felder, most recently an escapee of Johns Hopkins University in Baltimore Maryland where I earned my medical license."

Josie countenance completely changed as she understood Mr. Felder to be a doctor. She lifted her parasol and nodded to Eugene's tipped hat.

Anne furrowed her brow at this unlikely pair. Eugene was trying a bit harder than normal. Then Anne discounted her observation conceding that one always must try harder than normal with Josie Pye.

"Bundling is a very old fashion form of courtship, which allows the engaged couple conversation. It is not meant to be anything more than that. Back in the days of our Puritan forefathers, homes had only one or two rooms, furniture was sparse. The lucky couple needed a place to sit and rest. The board was used to prevent the physical intimacy yet encourage the emotional. It's really a rather clever device. Divorce among those that bundle was rare."

"Trust me, Mr. Felder. Anne Shirley and Gilbert Blythe have no issues talking. The practice of bundling is a blasphemy to our Christian island life," Josie said rather quickly. Anne thought perhaps she sounded a bit like Mrs. Harmon Andrews.

"Oh, now I think you're being rather harsh," Eugene said, sticking out his arm. Josie tentatively took it. "Shall we discuss this further?

"Miss Shirley, it always lovely to see you!" Eugene winked as he took the thorn in Anne's side away.

Josie kept her hand light on Eugene's arm as they started to meander to the shade of a lone willow, away from the crowd.

"I just had a very interesting conversation with your brother-in-law Robert."

Josie snickered, "The words 'interesting' and 'Robert' should never be used in the same sentence."

"I assure you, Miss Pye..."

"Josie."

"Alright, Josie it is then. I assure you, _Josie_ , it was interesting because it was about the birth of the fine laddie that is your nephew. I have a professional interest in such things."

Josie looked carefully into Mr. Felder's pale blue eyes, more than a little worried for his intention, "What exactly did Robert tell you."

"He mentioned things that don't line up with Gilbert's story. We're roommates at Redmond medical college. I can remember his exuberant report perfectly. He was so excited to tell me, once he learned my ambition to be an obstetrician." Eugene let Josie contemplate what Gilbert may have shared with Eugene before he continued. "I would need to study the case more factually to be sure, but Robbie had respiratory issues. Right? Couldn't breathe. Gilbert said he was an odd color too?"

"Correct," Josie said relaxing her guard a tad.

Eugene grinned at how easy this was to corner her. "That tells me the baby was born a few weeks early with underdeveloped lungs. But your nephew _cannot_ be premature, can he? Not if Robert says that his son was born nine months to the day of his conception, he was conceived right before he left. Unless Robert is not..."

Josie dropped her hand from Mr. Felder's arm. "That's not possible. Robert is the father, no one else."

Eugene's eyes darted around making sure that no one else could hear him. "Wasn't Robert in Europe or on a boat for the whole year? Unless he can be in two places at the same time, my mind cannot help but leap into a rather unseemly conclusion. If you keep reporting your nephew's birth with the details you give, an unhealthy baby that couldn't breathe, you will hurt someone that you love. I recommend you change your story and change it now. Protect your family. Tell folks Robbie was born in perfect condition."

Josie quickly turned her head to look at Gertie on the porch. Maybe Mr. Felder was right. Wasn't she always telling her to be quiet about Robbie's birth? Was _this_ the reason why?

"You have the option of ignoring my advice. The deduction is not hard to make though, and perhaps the next person to reach it won't be as kind as I am. Someone will do the math."

Josie swallowed so hard Eugene heard the contraction in her throat. Slowly, she formed an explanation. "I might have been wrong about Robbie's condition when he was born." Even more quietly, "I've never witnessed a birth before and I was overwrought with worry for my sister. I must have misunderstood. I'm not really prone to flights of imagination, but I suppose I'm not immune to them either."

Eugene smiled, knowing he'd nipped any gossip about Gilbert at the source. "I thought it was something like that. So, maybe go back to whomever you've been talking with, and explain that Robbie's start in the world went without a hitch. There was nothing strange about it, _right_?"

Josie frowned, "We're not talking about my sister and her baby anymore, are we?"

"You are clever aren't you?" Eugene pushed back. "But there's no gain in it for you to perpetuate such a story about Gilbert and Anne, is there? Especially when it _cannot_ be true—Robbie was a healthy infant boy from the start. Remember, your sister's family, _your family_ , have much more to lose."

* * *

Later on in the afternoon the young men and women engaged in a friendly match of tug-of-war. Miss Stacy encouraged the game when she was the schoolteacher. She had divided the class up equally, and the hearts of the original teams she created were there at this party. Anne Shirley and Charlie Sloane were the original captains for one team. The other team was captained by Fred Wright and Josie Pye.

Diana, who was sitting carefully along the side of the pitch, relinquished her position to Helen to no one's objection.

Gilbert had always been on Fred's team. In Miss Stacy's time at Avonlea school, he was older and bigger than the other boys and had always been the anchor. He remembered his position and walked to it. Moody had been Charlie and Anne's anchor, but he wasn't there to resume his place. After a brief deliberation, Eugene was selected as his substitute. Carrie Sloane joined Fred's side and Helen took Diana's spot behind Charlie.

Fred painted a line on the ground and pretty soon the teams once more, in a final hurrah and tribute to their youths, picked up the rope and started to pull.

Anne, Charlie, Helen, and Eugene pulled with all their might, trying to get the other team's flag over the mark. Anne barked out instruction. She could see Josie Pye directly across from her. Josie was accusing Fred and Gilbert of being weaklings with her rather brisk vocabulary. Carrie kept a low, determined profile and put her energy into winning.

From the sidelines came Diana's voice! "Oh, Anne! Com' on, you can do it!"

And Gertie also shouted, "Josie! Pull!"

Gilbert sweated profusely as he attempted to wrap the rope around his body and bury it down. He wasn't the biggest anymore, surely that honor belonged to Fred. It was only a few minutes later that Anne was pulled over the line and directly into the path of Josie, causing the girls to knock heads—literally this time.

Charlie had fallen off balance and was resting on his back, his legs and arms aside. Gilbert unwound himself from the rope. He wanted to check Anne's head even though he heard her laughing about it. His eyes briefly caught Helen and Eugene sitting in a patch of sunshine, laughing, their blue eyes fixed to the other. Helen seemed so happy, and Eugene, he didn't seem so foolish as he picked up his glasses. Gilbert felt himself blush for them.

Anne by this time was coming up to Gilbert and she slipped her hand around his torso. "I'm quite well Gil! Oh, wasn't that fun!"

Gilbert smiled brightly, "I miss feeling like this. Everything is such a worry anymore."

"It doesn't sound like I'm taking good care of you," Anne said. "I suppose I could do a better job."

"No, you're doing a fine job Anne," Gilbert said, wiping his brow. "This was a lot more work than I remember. Are you sure you want to hug me when I'm sweating so?"

Anne squeezed him anyway, "How else might I congratulate the winner?"

"Oh, how else indeed?" Gilbert laid a quick kiss on Anne's lips and it rattled her so much he could not help but smile. "Anne, I've been thinking, maybe it is I that have been taking you for granted. I'm sorry. I've been so distracted."

Anne looked around for a moment, wondering if there was any chance of privacy for a more thorough and affectionate kiss. No one was paying attention to them. Gilbert wrapped his left arm around Anne and hoisted her up. The kiss they shared was long and deep, so much so, Gilbert thought for certain someone was watching. No one was. When they turned, they saw Eugene carrying Diana back to the house.

Diana had fainted in the hot sunshine.

* * *

Diana revived as the smelling salts were passed under her nose. Eugene had carried his patient up to her room, Fred at his heels. Diana saw how worried Mr. Felder was as he tried to examine her pregnant bump. She didn't need to ask what was happening, she just started to cry.

"No, not again!" Diana whimpered. "Not again, not again, please God, no…."

"Mrs. Wright," Eugene comforted. "Try not to be upset. Stay calm."

Fred bounced around the bedroom. He wasn't trying to interfere, but he was a nervous presence that Diana could not handle. When Eugene dragged Fred out of the room, Gilbert slipped in and locked the door behind him, leaving Eugene outside.

Anne stood among the others in the hallway and stared at the door. She wished she had the power to see through it. She wished she could see Gilbert in what had to be one of his greatest moments. Instead, she stared at the poplar door as she heard the intermittent conversation between Eugene and Fred.

"Mr. Wright, there's nothing I can do to stop this, but make Mrs. Wright comfortable and deliver the baby."

"It's too soon for it to come. You said that baby was fine."

"I know I did, but that was last week. Every day something different can happen. Pregnancy is complex. All we can do is stay strong and supportive, and pacing the room like a pent-up cat wasn't helping her."

Suddenly from inside the door, there was a loud thud followed by a vibration of something heavy dropping to the floor.

Eugene went to the door and tried the brass knob. Its internal mechanics clicked annoyingly. "Who locked this door? Where's Gilbert?"

Eugene, Fred, Helen, and Charlie looked to Anne for the answer. Anne swallowed in trepidation. "He's with Diana." There was no point in lying. Fred was already fishing out the key from the hallway bureau. There was no time for Gilbert to hide: no time to explain anything.

Anne attempted to hold Fred back as Eugene pushed himself in. She was surprised to receive assistance from Charlie Sloane, who was acting on Helen's urging. "Let the doctor do this," Charlie advised Fred. "Everyone, just stay calm."

Helen gave Anne a faint smile. The smile told Anne more than she wanted to know. The smile suggested an initiation in progress. Charlie already understood something new about the Blythes.

Eugene immediately noticed Diana as the door shut behind him. Her color was bright and her complexion was glorious. She was still on her bed but sat in the state of perfect health. Her hand covered the barely noticeable baby bump. The floor told a different story. Slumped in an uncomfortable position was his roommate, Gilbert Blythe. He was unconscious. Blood poured from his upper lip where face had hit the bedpost.

Eugene hoisted Gilbert up and over his shoulder and dropped him in Fred's reading chair near the window. He turned to Diana and focused on the positive of this odd development. "You seem better."

"Yes," Diana said. "Gilbert helped and he—fell down. Hard."

"I probably should examine you, Mrs. Wright. But I'm thinking that..." _What am I thinking?_ Eugene looked at Gilbert again. Gilbert had no strength in his body left, his head kept coming down. His life-force was almost completely decimated. Eugene looked back at the energized Mrs. Wright. Everything that he had confidently believed true of Gilbert Blythe moved from theory to fact. "Gilbert _fixed_ you, didn't he?"

Diana said, "Yes, Gilbert...helped."

"I'm sure he did." Again, he looked at Gilbert. His blood was clotting nicely, but he was in need of a couple of stitches. "I won't ask you what happened, Mrs. Wright. I just want to be sure everyone's alright. Are you?"

"Yes. We are fine!" Diana said as she preciously rubbed her abdomen. "Is Gilbert?"

"I think so," Eugene said. "But, we've got a crowd out there. You need to follow my lead on this, for Gilbert's sake."

* * *

Eugene slipped out of the bedroom into the hallway where a huffed up Fred stood. "What happened in there?"

"No worries, no worries. I was wrong," Eugene smiled. He reached for his handkerchief and dabbed sweat off his brow. He tucked it back into his coat pocket. "Gilbert—what a smart fellow he is, was able to see the situation for what it was. This was a case of a laceration on the leg, which caused Diana to panic and faint. She's fine, baby is fine too."

"What was the thud?" Anne asked.

"It seems Gilbert slipped on a rug and knocked his head pretty hard on the bedpost."

Anne stared at Eugene, not believing a single word coming out of his mouth, but she played along as if she did; if that's what it took to convince Fred that nothing was amiss. Helen and Charlie also put up a good front.

"I think Miss Shirley, you should go in and see to Gilbert as his betrothed, and we'll have Diana come out to show everyone she's recovered."

Anne shut the door behind her and found Diana hovering over Gilbert. One look at his Gilbert's haggard, blood-covered face prompted Anne's eyes to water. She ran to him and dropped herself into his lap, she thought she might never be close enough to him as she attempted to soothe.

Anne stroked his hair as she murmured "I love you's" in his ear. Finally, she remembered Diana. Diana stood and gaped at this intimate moment. "I'm so glad you're better Diana, but what happened?"

"I think you can figure it out," Diana said. "Does this always happen when he heals someone?"

"I think this is a special circumstance. You go now, hold off the troops."

The door clicked open and shut, leaving Anne and Gilbert alone for a little while. Gilbert started to come to and he whispered, "Anne, hold me. I need you to just hold me." His breath was light and high in his chest-like the labored respiration of the dying.

Anne felt his arm pull her close. She buried her head into his neck and touched his drained face. The cut above his lip was going to leave a scar.

"My darling, what happened?"

"I didn't know what to do, so I blasted Diana with all my worth, just hoping that the baby would be helped." Gilbert wheezed out. "It was too much. Two people healed at once. I don't feel good at all. Hold me, Anne, there's something about you the puts me right."

"Oh, my poor Gil," Anne sympathized. "I need to get you back to Green Gables with me tonight. We'll bundle. We'll get rid of the board. We won't need it tonight." Anne rubbed her hand over his chest, leaving it on his heart. "You'll feel better soon Gil, I promise you."

* * *

Mrs. Rachel Lynde was fit to be tied as she sat with her sewing at the kitchen table, trying to ignore the situation in the guest room and the bundling bed. Marilla had consented to allow Anne and Gilbert to lay together on the bed _without the board_. Mrs. Lynde could see that Gilbert's constitution was in a terrible state of stress. He was helped into the house and led straight into the room by Eugene and Anne. Anne put a cover over him and then laid down right next to him as if she were his cleaved rib. Her feet were tucked up, and her skirt was fanned out over the bed. His ashen face fixed on her and Rachel saw his eyelids float gently down. There would be no talking or other activities that night, but it was ever the more improper without that board.

Eugene paced into the kitchen and found his esteemed, matronly friend sitting in an agitated state. He tilted his hat without dropping it and greeted the widow with additional aplomb.

"I'm so happy to have this moment to visit with you, Mrs. Lynde," Mr. Felder said brightly. "Would it be too much trouble if I might sit down next to your charming self and your bright personality. I so enjoyed your company at the gala last December."

Mrs. Lynde flushed a bit as she twisted her lips. "Sit if you like Mr. Felder, but that's an awful lot of butter for this old crusty piece of bread."

Mr. Felder laughed from his stomach. "I should have said your sharp wit, shouldn't I have? I wish I had candy for you. You're such a dear. So, what do you think of all this bundling business?"

Mrs. Lynde said more in her eye roll than could be said in an entire sermon. "You know who's room is next to theirs, don't you?"

Eugene continued laughing. "Poor Mrs. Lynde!"

"It's not funny." Rachel said. "I have half a mind to move my bed to another wall."

"Oh, the things you must hear!"

"We're friends, Mr. Felder, but let's not go insane and become so informal we forget ourselves with such strange and compelling banter."

Eugene just smiled back and waited for Rachel to implode. He knew women, he knew what this woman wanted to talk about.

"The things I hear, most of it is so boring. But Anne's giggles really get on my nerves and Gilbert snores terribly."

"It is like a hacksaw, isn't it?"

"Still, you learn things," Rachel said without further elaboration.

"You can learn things just by being quiet and looking," Eugene said quietly. "I noticed today how much Robbie Wright's chin and lips look like Charlie Sloane's. Would you have an opinion on that observation?"

She appeared indifferent but Eugene noticed a clenched jaw biting down on his bait. "Can't say that I've ever seen the two together. Why does it matter?"

"You're a woman that would know things if there were things to know. You're clever and understand human behavior."

"More butter, huh?" Rachel accused.

"Mrs. Lynde, I only speak the truth here," Mr. Felder said. "You know, what would you say if I told you I have a very good reason to believe that little Robbie was born prematurely."

Rachel worked her needle a bit through the quilt block. Eugene saw her count the months in her head. Finally, she set her sewing down. "That's not possible—Robert got sent off with a bang and little Robbie was born nine months later. Can't be premature."

"Oh, based on the information I've heard from Josie Pye and Gilbert Blythe, I would think he was. Surely you're wise enough to know that babies born early sometime struggle to breathe."

Rachel's nostrils flare, smelling a new twist in this otherwise old story. Up went her needle, down went her needle, thinking and counting back a year and eight to nine months. Did she remember what everyone was up to? Charlie was home for the holiday, wasn't he? Had she not see him talking with Gertie at the Christmas party. She frowned. That was hardly evidence. Charlie Sloane talked to everyone. If Robbie had protruded eyes, now that would be something instead.

"I'll keep my eye out on things," Rachel said. "It could be possible, but let's not go jumping around and causing a commotion over it. "

"You'll do that for me?" Eugene smiled.

"Of course I will," Rachel looked up at him. "No one wants Helen to marry him."

* * *

Back at the Blythe homestead, Helen found herself pacing outside, thinking over the events. Eugene sat on the porch and watched her nervous gait. Helen realized that Eugene had lied for Gilbert—had done everything he could to not raise suspicion, even protected Gilbert by forcing people away as he rested with Anne. Yet, he wasn't even asking questions. Why was that? Why wouldn't this highly intelligent man not wonder? If not for him, and his careful words with Fred Wright, Fred would know about Gilbert's powers. Was she obligated to tell him something, explain?

"Mr. Felder? Would you like to walk with me to the beach? I could use the scenery right now."

Eugene's eyes flashed in her direction and she saw his Adam's apple bob. "That sounds very nice, Miss Blythe."

Helen walked a few feet towards the beach and then turned back to look at him. Her blue eyes caught his eyes unexpectedly. He had removed his glasses. Helen stopped and waited for him to catch up. They shared a smile and soon Eugene was next to her, steadying her with a light hand on her back.

As they approached the sandy shore, Helen stopped and removed her shoes; and with a slight blush, rolled down her stockings after Eugene turned. He took off his shoes and socks as well. They left them on a jutting bluff and approached the water's edge. The sea washed up and over their toes like a comforting lullaby.

Helen didn't have the strength to interrupt the perfect silence. All her concern melted away as she stood next to him. He didn't need to be told anything. He understood.

Eugene stared ahead and allow himself to feel. Next to him was a beautiful woman. He picked up her hand and held it confidently, not saying a single word. Helen didn't speak. She wistfully smiled, telling him so many things by squeezing his palm. She did not let go or pull him close. She just held his hand as they watch the surf crest and crash.

"Miss Blythe, why is it you're not married?" Eugene ventured his thought.

Helen continued to stand there, the waters rolling off her feet on its ebb. She held her skirts up with the other hand.

"It just wasn't possible, Mr. Felder"

Eugene breathed deep and studied her carefully. Something of her face revealed a secret. She had a rosy blush mixed with shame, followed by a twinkle in her eye.

"What was _her_ name?" Eugene asked without missing a beat.

Helen bowed her head down and stiffened. Eugene would not let her hand go, he was not afraid of her sexuality.

"Her name was Lynn. How'd you know?" She tilted her face up to his and Eugene thought for a second he should touch it.

Instead-"I study women and I have befriended many like you." His pale eyes were richer with the backdrop of blue ocean and a darkening sky. "Although, you are by far the loveliest of all of them. Will you call me Gene henceforth?"

Helen agreed with a smile. "You can drop the Miss Blythe business."

Together they continued to hold hands for the next half hour as they walked up and down the coastline, not talking too much but building a trust that may take others years to create.

"Gene, if I told you, that once I had powers, magical ones, that let me see the future, would you believe me?"

"Yes," Gene said, lifting their hands and kissing her knuckles. "I would be honored to hold such a secret."

"If I told you because of those powers, I know I can't leave this place, would you believe me too?"

"Of course, if my darling Helen says so, I would believe her."

"Gene," and Helen's heart hurt to say it. Maybe she shouldn't have at all, but she did boldly, "I can't marry you, that is what you're thinking." She felt a glimmer of her old self again in the purple sunset. He brought himself next to her, breathing down on her softly. Helen reminded him, "You don't want me, I'm peculiar...and I can't leave. Somehow my end is tied to this ocean."

"How did you know I was going to ask you?"

A tear fell down Helen's face. "I didn't really know, I just hoped."

"Are you sure?" He picked up her other hand and rested his forehead on hers.

"No," Helen said. "I mean, you haven't asked me yet. So maybe I am wrong in what I see? A man that really loves...me?"

"Helen," Gene whispered, as he rubbed his hands down the sides of her forearms, threatening to hug her. "I do love you. I know I just met you a few days ago, but I also know my heart and a good thing when I see it. Please, do not be afeared of your feelings, and marry me. We will have a good life together. And I accept you _exactly_ as you are, my broken little witch."

Helen couldn't stand on her own effort anymore, and she crouched down, supported only by Gene's strength. Her dress was wet up to her thighs from weakened legs. "I want to say 'yes'. Will you stay on the island, will you protect me from this ocean?"

"I can't do that," Gene answered. "My ambitions cannot be fulfilled on Prince Edward Island. It's just not possible. I have a calling to fulfill, and I will fulfill it. I live to change the world, and you should come with me as my greatest witness."

"I'm so sorry," Helen teared up. "I can't."

 **to be continued**


	14. Bi-location

_Warning: sexual situations_

* * *

Timeline - _Anne of Windy Poplars,_ _The Second Year._ This chapter would be lead into Chapter 4, but starts with a flashback.

* * *

 **Chapter 14: Bi-Location**

Gilbert sat near Magog in the parlor room of Patty's Place as Stella finished reading highlights from her last letter from home. If truth were told, he wasn't really listening to Stella, as delightful as it was to hear news of Carmody. Instead, he and Jonas Blake were having a nonverbal conversation about their girls; specifically, Gilbert's Anne Shirley, and Jonas' Philippa Gordon.

Gilbert hoped that when he looked at Anne, it wasn't in the same obvious manner as Jonas' long glances at Philippa. Gilbert and Jonas traded notes the few times their eyes connected. Together they found themselves inwardly laughing and shaking their heads as they attempted to court their girls in a room decorated with entirely too much gold leaf _._ Jonas appeared to be a lot closer to achieving his heart's desire than Gilbert. Philippa was actually sitting next to Jonas and would sometimes touch his hand.

Everyone in the room knew Anne and Gilbert were close friends: they also knew that their chemistry hinted to something deeper than friendship. Gilbert didn't worry about Anne's physical distance from him. The fact Anne chose to not sit next to him was a thinly veiled protest to a heart that was warming to be his. He smiled thinking her coy. Anne who sat on the floor with her legs tucked up under her skirt. Anne that laughed the brightest. Anne whose auburn hair still beckoned for his touch. No other man was closer to her than him even if she sat the furthest away.

It was Anne's turn to share letters from home. She always gave the best readings. One could argue, that letters from Davy Keith gave her the best material. There was plenty of room to add vocal inflection and foot stomping to Davy's rather direct and unfiltered views of life. Gilbert was not surprised to hear rip-roaring laughter as she proceeded to read. She revelled a bit in the mirth before refolding his correspondence for safe keeping. When Davy's letter was slipped back into its envelope, she found a thin note she had missed.

She popped an eyebrow as she recognized the handwriting written on its front. "It's from Dora," Anne reported. "Don't know how I missed this. Supposed she tried to save a stamp."

"Read it to us, Anne," Priscilla requested.

"It's probably just a recipe. It's Dora!" Anne smiled at the crowd as she flipped over the note to inspect the back.

"Give the girl a chance," Jonas encouraged. Gilbert noticed Jonas was now holding Philippa's hand.

"Well. . .," Anne unfolded the square and cleared her throat.

"Dear Anne, I'm afraid I ruined your blue apron. I borrowed it after I heard someone..." Anne stopped abruptly as alarm took over her face. Her gray eyes welled with a few tears. Quickly, her hand went up to cover her eyes and she tucked her face into her chest. Her surprise was so complete the entire room grew instantly concerned. She stopped an incoming hug from Stella.

"No, just give me a second," Anne said. "I was caught completely off guard. That's all."

Gilbert began his countdown. He followed the rhythmic tick-tock of the clock and watched Anne's valiant struggle to remain calm. _Hundred, ninety-nine, ninety-eight._ He intended to reach zero before racing to her side. _Eighty-two, seventy-one, sevent_ _y._ His eyes never faltered from her bowed head and thus when she lifted her eyes, she found him there waiting. _Fifty,_ _forty-nine_ _, thirty-eigh_ _t._

Finally, Anne turned to the rest of the group and spoke calmly. "Excuse me. As you can tell, Dora's note really surprised me. I should have read it first. I apologize." She got up and exited the room, cloistering herself off in the kitchen.

 _Twenty, nineteen, eighteen._

Gilbert was rubbing his hands together, relieved that whatever it was, it didn't cause Anne to sob. The tears he could handle; she cried easily, happy or sad. It was her sobs that brought him to his knees. He absolutely hated it when Anne would weep. Phil, who was nearest Gilbert, kicked him. He glared at her and she mouthed the word, "Go."

When he entered the kitchen, Anne was standing at the sink, her back to him. She watched her reflection in the dark window as her thin, flexible arm reached to her hair and removed hairpins. Her fingers raked out the twist of hair. Gilbert gazed longingly as the knot tumbled down. Gravity straightened her auburn waves. The way the rounded ends swished back and forth at her hips made his face heat.

Gilbert looked away and saw Dora's letter on the table. He picked it up and read it.

"Dear Anne, I'm afraid I ruined your blue apron. I borrowed it after I heard someone poured paint on Matthew's grave. I cleaned it up. Marilla said to send a note explaining what happened. I am sorry. Love, Dora."

Gilbert felt sick. Why would someone vandalize Matthew's headstone? Were there other monuments vandalized as well? He put the letter down where he found it. Anne had turned to face him. She watched for his reaction as she pushed a few wispy red threads of hair behind her ear.

"Anne, I'm really sorry someone did that," Gilbert said. "But it's got to be fine now if Marilla knew anything about it. It's probably so clean it gleams."

"Of course, you're right" Anne breathed. "It's what I thought too, but, it's Matthew." _Did I ever tell you how much that man meant to me?_ "I miss him so much still and for someone to do that!"

Gilbert advanced closer to Anne. He picked up her hand and held it very lightly with the tips of his fingers. "Anne?" Gilbert voiced lovingly. "You know I'm headed back home next weekend. Would you like me to go look? I'd be happy to do that for you."

His lungs collapsed from the hug Anne gave him. "Gil, thank you!" She clung to him. Usually, her hugs were a flash in the pan, but this one lingered and he could feel her relax in his protective arms. He squeezed Anne affectionately and directed his mind to chant an all too familiar statement. _I will not kiss you._ _I will not kiss you._

"I wish I had the power to be in two places at once because if I did, I would go there now and make sure," Gilbert heard himself say.

Anne chuckled as she loosened her grip. "My, Mr. Blythe. I didn't know your sense of imagination was so developed."

Gilbert's hands slipped down to her waist as hers remained on his strong arms. _We're just friends, right?_ Anne usually fought _this,_ but not tonight, he supposed.

Anne was refusing to look away from him. He marveled at the green flecks that glittered like sparkling emeralds in the irises of her gray eyes. "Anne, there's a lot about me you don't know." Anne took a step back from Gilbert and her hands were again in his fingertips. "I...I" He wasn't going to tell her that his own Uncle Raymond was a master at bi-location. That would take too long to explain; however, there was something in her touch that made him want to tell her his story; and how he lost his magic. He wanted her to know, that if he had his powers, he'd stay up all night to figure bi-location out, just for her.

"Gilbert?" Anne called him back to reality. "Thank you! Please give your folks my best when you're there. Twenty-five years is nothing to sneeze at."

Anne half smiled as she re-twisted her hair and reinserted pins to hold a bun. She returned to the laughter of friends, leaving Gilbert to question what had just happened. Could it be, that she was falling for him? She stayed so steady in his embrace. Helen had assured Gilbert in her last letter that she saw him marry a red-head in her last prophetic vision.

* * *

Anne Shirley instinctively rolled towards him when she realized Gilbert had joined her in her Windy Poplars bed. She was asleep, but Gilbert was never far from her thoughts and she was not afraid to act on her instinct. Anne squealed when Gilbert possessively pulled her to him. He crossed his hands behind the small of her back and he gently held her hips against his erection, not that she fought to escape.

Their heads collided and she found his lips on hers. His tongue provoked her soft moans. He attempted to smother her with his kisses. Anne felt herself grow light-headed trying to passionately return each one. Her heart pounded hard under her breasts. His hands were everywhere on her body now. Her soft skin molded to his touch.

As suddenly as he was there, he was suddenly gone.

Anne might have convinced herself her overactive imagination was at work; if it weren't for the covers being completely pulled apart and her nightgown pushed up to her chin.

* * *

"No...!" Gilbert shouted as he woke up from the most vivid dream in his life. He could still feel Anne in his arms and smell her sweet skin— _but it couldn't have really happened, right_? But he already knew it had, he had been there with her. The more awake he became, the more sure he was. But he hadn't meant to project himself to her, not really. His mind hurt realizing that his powers now included a new ability—the same as his uncle's. He could be in two places at once.

"Gilbert—what's wrong with you?" Eugene queried from the other end of their dark room. "Aren't you a little bit too grown up now to be having nightmares?"

"Nightmare—hardly," Gilbert sat up in his bed and ran his fingers through his hair. His hairline was wet with sweat. "Eugene—I was with Anne just now. I can't believe it! I've just experienced bi-location." He sounded both terrified and amazed.

There was no immediate response but Gilbert heard a match strike and then he could see light coming from Eugene's side of the A-shaped dorm room. A half a minute passed before Gilbert saw his spindly legs attempt to navigate around the corner. His shadow loomed up like a monster over his head from the way he held the lamp. He looked at Gilbert with the oddest grin.

"Gil, what exactly do you mean you were with Anne?"

"I was in two places at once." Gilbert heard himself explain. "I was here in my bed asleep and I was over in Summerside—with Anne—in her bed." He breathed heavily, still not quite believing it himself.

"Oh dear!" Eugene's voice was filled with wonder. "And dare I ask what you were doing with Anne in her bed?"

"We weren't discussing the upcoming elections, I'll tell you that much," Gilbert exhaled. Gruffly-"I need to apologize to Anne. She deserves better than me treating her like..."

"Like a woman you love? How far did you go?"

"Once I realized my fantasy was a bit too real I was back here," Gilbert reported. "But that's enough of that. I have to get back there and apologize."

"Well—no one will ever say you don't at least try to live up to the ideals of chivalry, but Anne doesn't seem like a typical lady in waiting. Judging by the way you shouted 'no' your escapades were well received."

"Gene—I won't discuss Anne like this anymore with you," Gilbert said. "I'm still trying to understand how I did it. I mean, thoughts of bi-location have been nagging me for months. I've been remembering everything I've ever said about it, and trying to recall everything I ever heard Helen's father say about doing it." Gilbert slapped the mattress in front of him, finally accepting his newly found ability. "Gene—I can bi-locate. Oh wow, that's weird to say." He peered up from his bed looking for re-assurances from his newest confidant.

He was looking so intently at Eugene that Eugene thought perhaps there was someone else in the room with them. He turned his head to check and then attempted to provide Gilbert the sort of affirmation he needed.

"Well done then Gilbert! Hip-hip-hooray! Bi-location!"

Gilbert shook his head and chuckled. "Gene, that's not the response I was looking for."

Gene set the lamp on the desk nearby and pulled the chair. "What would you like to hear then, Gilbert?" He leaned the chair back and attempted to balance on its two hind legs. This, however, caused Gilbert to momentarily forget the reason why they were speaking at one AM instead of sleeping. Eugene was really testing fate.

Gilbert brought his hand to his face in chagrin. "I dunno. Just tell me what you think."

"Oh," Eugene said. "Well, I think perhaps, _maybe_ you should learn to use the magic powers you already have, rather than find new ones."

"Meaning?"

"Isn't it obvious?" Eugene started to say a bit defensively. "You lack control Gilbert!" It was at this moment irony caught up with Eugene and he lost balance in the precariously titled chair. Chair and man crashed to the floor.

"Dammit! Why do I have to be such a klutz all the time? I have a bone to pick with my creator. There's no reason for me to always be dropping things and falling down."

"You all right?" Gilbert got out of bed to help him.

"Yes, yes, of course!" Eugene pushed away Gilbert's hand indignantly. "And I'm not letting you Dr. Diagnosis me, either." Eugene brushed his nightshirt straight. He picked up the chair and hunted for his spectacles.

"That wasn't my motive for offering my hand," Gilbert retorted. "But, you're right about the control part. If you were injured, I'd know pretty fast without any conscious effort on my part just shaking your hand. That is something I cannot control. It's quite inconvenient, to be honest."

"I'd say. You really need to cloak that ability better during patient casework, it's rather obvious anymore and so very hard for me to spin. But..." Eugene stopped talking in fear that his thoughts were too steeped in the subjunctive. What did he know about magic after all?

"But what?"

"Oh, it's probably nothing. I'm not the one with the powers am I?" Eugene found his glasses and slapped them on his head. He returned to his chair and this time did not make attempt to lean it back.

"No, I want to know." Gilbert pushed.

"Do you have your powers in your second body?"

Gilbert felt his face furrow thinking it over.

"Why?"

"Well—if you could be Gilbart during patient casework..."

"Gilbart?"

"Oh, saying "your second body' felt weird," Eugene explained. "So I thought you could be Gilbert and Gilbart when you're doing this bi-location thing."

Gilbert frowned shaking his head.

"No? What should I say instead? Educate me, what are the proper terms for this magic business?"

"You'd be better off asking Helen those questions. She actually grew up with some magical guidance. I'm just winging it."

"Well, then, I'm entitled to also make it up as I go, aren't I?" Eugene stood and pushed the chair back to the desk. He paced instead. "I'm just thinking that if you could be Gilbart instead of Gilbert at certain times, you might be more successful in hiding your magical nature. Seems to me that you wouldn't have your powers as Gilbart since your magic is already in use to maintain this other corporal body."

Gilbert rolled his eyes, thinking about it. "I guess it would depend on how solid I felt in my projection, and how much consciousness I gave it, and how long I needed to sustain it, and the distance between the two.." Gilbert went on and on.

Eugene started to laugh. "Sounds like you're going to have to learn control. I know, not your forté is it?"

Gilbert sat on his bed. "You're right Gene. Do you want to help me then? You could help me improve. You seem to have a grasp on these matters, even if you're not cursed like I am."

"You're not cursed," Gene shook his head. "You've been gifted and yes, I'm sure it's hard, but you're not cursed," Eugene looked back to his friend who was now looking a tad insecure. "Gilbert, think about everything you have done with your powers. I only know the things I've witnessed and they're pretty incredible. You saved that lovely baby of Mrs. Wright's. And you healed me from that lung infection."

Gilbert looked at Eugene questioning him. "You just had a cold."

"No, I didn't," Eugene looked steadily back at Gilbert. His pale blue eyes were fixed hard on him. "I was about to drop out of school and check myself into a sanitarium. I had already purchased my ticket to Alberta—prairie cure and all. I was writing my will."

"I never noticed it as being that serious," Gilbert replied. "I thought it just a cold."

"Well, it wasn't," Eugene said quietly. "I knew then about you. Thank you. You saved my life, and I owe you."

"You don't owe me, Gene," Gilbert firmly stated. "But I'm to the point now where even I must admit I don't know what I'm doing and I need help with this. Will you help me?"

"How? I don't bring anything to the table with regards to supernatural powers."

"That's not true. You are a good friend. I need lots of those." Gilbert said. "You can watch for me when I attempt to bi-locate and protect my dormant body. I will need your help this morning, say around six, before breakfast? I still need to apologize to Anne."

* * *

A few hours later, just before sunrise, Anne woke up and found Gilbert sitting on the mattress next to her. He was wearing his brown suit, clearly ready for class. His right leg was folded between them and his left leg dangled over the elevated bed. His face was hard to read. He looked part man and part boy caught stealing cookies from the cookie jar. She didn't falter under his hazel eyes, but she did volley hers back and forth from him to the place on the mattress where they might have made love.

"Last night wasn't a dream, was it?" Anne coolly asked.

Gilbert shook his head. "No"

Anne's eyes enlarged as she remembered his sensual embrace. She looked away as her face heated.

"Anne, you must know how truly, utterly, ashamed I am with my behavior. I didn't understand it was real. I thought it just another dream, about you." Gilbert admitted bravely, "Please forgive me for using you. I'm so very sorry."

"Gilbert—You don't have to apologize for that. I thought that I was dreaming too. Was I not kissing you back?"

His brows knotted. "Still. I want us to make it through this engagement with our virtue, whatever is left of it, unscathed. It's still important to me."

Anne's head turned. She could hear one of the other occupants moving downstairs. "Gil, what is going on? Just how did you get in my bed last night? If the Aunties or Rebecca Dew discover you, you'll be burned at the stake! Me too!"

Gilbert scratched his head trying to find an explanation that didn't sound foolish. "Well, Anne-girl, it would seem I've stumbled onto a new ability. Bi-location. Being in two places at once. I projected a second version of myself straight into your bed. And now that I know I can do it, I'm doing it now just to apologize for that."

Anne caught her reflection in his eyes. "You're here and you're..."

"Back in my dorm room at Kingsport Medical School."

"At the same time."

"Yes. Glad you understand."

Anne pushed the covers off her and crawled on her hands and knees over the mattress to be closer to him. She kneeled before him, balancing herself carefully on bent legs and sat upright over her feet. Her fingers combed his thick hair and her palm cupped his check. He felt real enough, just like last night. Gilbert kissed the inside of her hand. "You're here and you're there. This doesn't seem like it should be possible."

"Anne, it's magic. None of this should be possible. It just is." Gilbert hesitated and he looked down a moment. He grabbed her hand deliberately, mustering up some courage. When he saw her supportive eyes again, he revealed. "Anne-girl, I'm a lot more powerful than I thought. It terrifies me if I stop and think about it."

"Why? Why are you afraid, my love?

Gilbert's eyes moistened slightly. "I don't know who I am anymore. Or _what_ I am for that matter. I've never heard of anyone in my family having two major abilities. This is huge."

Anne leaned forwarded and kissed him on the cheek. "I know you Gilbert Blythe and you've always been exceptional. Could I love a mediocre Gil? Perish the thought! But, I know also how hard getting your powers back has been. No one sees the stress you're under better than I do."

Gilbert squeezed Anne's hand, "You're not afraid of me, are you?"

Anne smiled ear-to-ear. "Gil, are you kiddin' me?" She nudged him. "When it comes to you, I could never be afraid. I've been mad and angry at you. You've made me cry many times, and I've been deliriously happy with you too. But I'm not afraid of you. I am concerned and nervous. You're struggling to stay in control, and I see that. It has to be the reason why you did not ask me about leaving Avonlea. Unless you want to explain."

"That's what you want to talk about?" Gilbert said, almost relieved. "Not the fact I've sprouted this other major ability or how we almost made love. You want to talk about me buying Uncle Dave's medical practice?"

"No, I want to know why you didn't consult me about it first," Anne said. "I can see that it is a good opportunity but really Gilbert. It's my life too."

Gilbert blinked his eyes as if he was hearing Anne for the first time. "Isn't it my job as the husband to provide the home?" Gilbert asked. "I honestly thought I was providing for you by not giving you any cause to worry for our future." He studied her face as it frowned, "I guess it was pride, Anne-girl. I wanted to show you my prowess. I never meant to hurt you by not giving you the respect you deserve. I'm sorry. Do you want me to go back to Uncle Dave and say "no thank you"?"

Anne squeezed his hand this time. "I didn't say that, did I? I forgive you Gilbert. I might be a fool to, but I do. I can see how much you need me on your side. I can't be anywhere else when it comes down to it."

Gilbert's lips found Anne's once again. He brushed them lightly and cupped the side of her face. "I love you, Anne-girl. You will never know how much."

"I love you too, Gil." Anne returned. "I suppose your new found ability doesn't include a time-bending attribute, does it?"

"No," Gilbert's head shook. "Don't be silly."

Anne chuckled. "Well—you should depart now." Anne kissed him again. "Rebecca Dew sometimes forgets to knock, and I am expected downstairs. She'll be up to check soon."

"I'm glad we've talked," Gilbert said as Anne watched Gilbert fade into mist.

* * *

Anne Shirley barely beat the tardy bell when she arrived at Summerside High School. She walked into her class straight from the street and began administrating the geometry exam before she had a chance to take off her coat. As soon as she passed out the test there was a rap at her door. She could see through the door's window it was Miss Brooke, looking sterner than usual.

"Excuse me, Miss Shirley," Miss Brooke forcefully said as Anne cracked the door open. "I was hoping you had those new maps of India for my class."

"Of course! I have them with me in my satchel," Anne whispered. Miss Brooke followed Anne in, two steps behind her. The heels of her boots clicked obnoxiously. The students returned their eyes to their papers when Miss Brooke turned to address their stares. Anne fished through her bag for the hand-colored maps of the exotic land. They were rightfully each a piece of art. Anne tried to smile at Miss Brooke as she handed them off. Miss Brooke only scowled, wriggling her nose in disgust.

Anne realized that Katherine was commenting on her scent and grew self-conscious, but no more was said between the two women. Miss Brooke had her own class to manage.

Anne could see that Katherine lingered at the door once it was shut. The door was hinged high enough that her black-patented, high-heeled boots were visible in the gap between the door and the threshold. Once again, Anne wished she could see through the door and know what was happening behind it. Instead, she had to suppose that the gray-suited woman was counting the copies she just supplied.

In actuality, Katherine needed a moment or two to cleanse her nose of that distinctive scent, faint as it was. She was sure—even though she hadn't smelled it in over fifteen years—that Miss Shirley had a been in the company of a witch. Her curiosity was peaked as was her apprehension.

 **to be continued**


	15. Noel (part 1)

Timeline - _Anne of Windy Poplars, The Second Year._ This chapter contours chapters 5  & 6.

* * *

 **Chapter 15: Noel (Part 1)**

Gilbert Blythe made the first two of three connections back to his home without event. The December skies were clear blue and the air sharp with cold. There were few travelers on the ferry or the train. When Gilbert stepped down to the platform he found himself alone in Carmody and ahead of schedule. Normally he went home by way of Bright River but he remembered his promise to visit Helen in her new dressmaking shoppe. The address was written clearly in Helen's slant writing in her letter; two blocks west of the Carmody train depot. The sign Charlie had hung on the facade said, "Helen's Hems."

Gilbert pulled the scruff of his white turtleneck sweater up before adjusting his hat, bracing himself for the short walk. He found her dressmaking shoppe without effort but hesitated before entering. Through the store windows he could see that the shoppe was full of women; young and old, all looking at the negligees and corsets on display. A man walking into the shoppe would create quite a stir. Instead, he walked around the building and found another door in the alley, also labeled, "Helen's Hems". He knocked and waited, swiveling his body and head to take in the view.

Two young ladies were taking a shortcut in the alley and saw him. They stopped chatting and continued on, heads down.

"Gilbert?"

The man opening the door was surprised. He hadn't put on his outer-shirt yet and his suspenders were down, hanging loosely from his trousers.

"Charlie?"

Asking what Charlie was doing there felt automatic and dumb. Clearly, Gilbert had interrupted something.

"Helen insists on fixing my shirt," Charlie explained as he held the door open for Gilbert. "Come in, take a load off for a moment." Gilbert followed Charlie inside to what appeared to be a decent sized apartment.

"So, this is it?" Gilbert stared into the corners of the room and saw stairs to a second floor.

"Bertie? Is that you I hear?"

Helen sounded happy which calmed the anxieties floating in Gilbert's stomach. She came around the corner with straight pins in her mouth and Charlie's white shirt in her hands. She quickly put the pins into her pincushion and hugged Gilbert.

"Well, how's it going?" Gilbert asked as he gave her a squeeze. "I was going to go through the front door but you have so many customers."

"Gil, let me get you a cup of tea," Charlie interrupted as he disappeared to another room.

"Oh, Bertie!" Helen excitedly said. "Business is going well, tremendously well. I have the best staff and Charles is a genius when it comes to profit."

"Oh, that doesn't surprise me at all. He always displayed a keen financial sense."

Gilbert noticed her diamond ring. He swallowed understanding the implication. He looked up to prevent her from seeing his disappointment welling in his eyes. From over her head, he saw his old friend return with what looked to be a beer stein.

"Sorry for the cup!" Charlie thrust the container of hot tea into Gilbert's hands. "Helen's hardly moved in yet. Mother will come up with some more housekeeping implements after Christmas. We have news." Charlie put his arm around Helen and smiled. Helen's smile was a lot smaller than his, but it was there too. "We're engaged!"

"Oh—well, I," Gilbert stammered unable to express the joy one normally gives with such news, "Everyone in Avonlea's been expecting it," Gilbert finally managed, hoping that it could be interpreted as "Congratulations."

"Thanks, do you want something to eat?" Charlie smiled at him, his protruded eyes were happy. Gilbert felt a little nauseated and couldn't eat if he tried. "Helen's got a stew going on the stove."

"No actually, I'm on my way back home," he replied. "I had promised to stop in and see the new place, find out if Helen's kept herself out of trouble."

"Suit yourself then, she's a fine cook," Charlie paced out of his view once more. Gilbert then threw his cousin a face of deep concern.

"Gilbert—it won't be for another year yet," Helen said as she rubbed his arm trying to soothe his worries. "Next month Charles and Robert Wright head to Europe for several months. Robert's business acquaintances want to buy my designs! Can you believe it! Anyway, Charles is going to broker my patterns—our patterns I should say. The ceremony will be after he returns."

"But Helen!" Gilbert put his hands up and over his face as if covering his eyes would make the situation go away.

"It will be fine, Bertie!" Helen promised. "He does love me. I would still be living with your parents if not for him. And he understands now. He understands what it means to be in this family. If you would simply answer his letters you'd know all this."

"I do answer his letters," Gilbert defended himself.

"Returning his letter with the postscript, 'We're not talking about this' is not an answer." Helen pushed back on him. "It's cowardly. Anyway, I think you'll be most surprised with how he's grown. Sit down, relax. I promise you, it will be fine!"

Gilbert parked himself on Helen's sofa as she left to finish Charlie's shirt. Charlie returned with a serving of potato stew on a plate.

"You sure you don't want any?" He asked once more. He leaned his face into it and smelled the aroma of good food.

Gilbert shook his head. "I brought a sandwich for later," Not wanting to sound completely ungrateful for Charlie's hospitality, he added, "The tea is nice though, I was chilled. Thank you!"

"No problem!" Charlie replied setting down his plate and dabbing his chin with his napkin. "I'm glad you're here Gil! I've been wanting to talk to you about this magical legacy in your family. Well, not really talk about it with you, Helen insists I leave you alone, but –looking back at our friendship. I see now I owe you an apology."

"For what?" Gilbert's curiosity outweighed his inclination to deny his abilities to Charlie.

Helen interrupted Charlie's speech as she handed him back his shirt. Charlie stood and put it on. Helen buttoned it up for him to review the drape of her alteration and the reinforced buttonholes. "Yes, I think that will work better for you now."

"Thank you, Love," Charlie said and he pecked her cheek. Helen frowned at his lack of discretion in front of Gilbert. Gilbert could hardly comment as Charlie pushed shirttails into his trousers and pulled his suspenders up and over his shoulders. Didn't he just slap Helen's bum?

"Hey, you treat Helen with respect," Gilbert blurted out.

Charlie laughed aloud, "Yes, of course. Comin' from the quintessential gentleman that bundles with his fiancée. Do you have a cab back to Avonlea, Gilbert? We can split fare, I'm headed back too," Charlie paid no mind to Gilbert's admonishment.

"I was going to walk home, take a shortcut home through the woods," Gilbert grabbed his satchel. "It only a couple miles for me."

"Oh, no! You shouldn't do that," Charlie ejected as he put on his coat. He held Gilbert at his shoulder. "There's a rabies epidemic. Sick foxes, 'coons. You need to stick to the road.

"Really? Rabies?"

"I'm serious!" Charlie continued. "It started with bats, now it's spread to other woodland creatures. There's even a bounty, but you have to deliver the carcass to the Charlottetown constable to collect it. I do not recommend your shortcut, so you might as well come with me in my cab since we're going the same way."

* * *

The road from Carmody back into Avonlea had changed since the last time Gilbert traveled it. The large trees that once canopied the by-way were cleared. In their place were small shacks that were quickly made from cheap lumber. Black smoke curled from the stovepipes into the frosty air. Gilbert sat back astonished by the change. It was ugly. Did Anne know that one of their favorite spots on the island had been cut down?

"New Halifax," Charlie muttered, but Gilbert's questioning face invited more details. "Parliament is trying to break up the black community in Halifax. We've got a small community here now. Good workers and they work cheap too. Keep to themselves, mostly."

"I don't think I've ever seen a colored on the island."

"They have their own schools and churches. Unless you're employing them, you probably won't."

"I will when they're sick," Gilbert sat in silence, thinking of those thin, poorly made homes. "Those houses are hardly suitable dwellings. Poverty is a disease too. I see it all the time with patient casework at school. We should help them improve their buildings. It would save lives."

"You might be right there Gil, you usually are, but you're asking a lot for this backwater place. Remember how hard it was to raise money to save our village hall?"

Gilbert did remember—the two of them canvassing together, trying to outline the merits of new shingles and new paint on a public building. It was like squeezing blood from a rock. He also remembered how Charlie persevered to that goal. "I'm sure you can think of a way, Charlie. One thing I always liked about you is you were never satisfied with status quo," Gilbert pointed out, "If you thought you found a better way, you'd stick to it."

"Thanks for the compliment—if stubbornness is one," Charlie returned. "Gilbert, Helen interrupted me in her apartment, don't think I've forgotten. I'd like to finish apologizing to you and get it over with. I know you'd never fish for it."

"Well, if you feel it's necessary, I cannot think what it's for."

"It goes back to when you and your father were leaving for Alberta."

Gilbert shrugged in a manner indicating disbelief, "You want to apologize for something that happened when we were twelve?"

"Yes, I do," Charlie answered. "I admit it took me a long time to see a bigger picture with Helen's powers. But once I did, I understood you much better, Gilbert. And it occurred to me what our problem really was. It was never about Anne, was it? Although I never believed you when you yourself would tell me so. I recalled most unpleasantly what I did now and I'm unhappy with myself for it. "

Gilbert hiccuped slightly suddenly remembering the two of them talking on the shoreline of Barry's pond. Gilbert recited some carefully crafted words explaining why he and his father were leaving Avonlea. He recalled that he tried to tell Charlie about his family and what was expected of him. His reveal had backfired painfully.

"I laughed at you Gilbert when you tried to tell me what you were, back when we were boys. You know—with your abilities." Charlie paused to watch Gilbert's reaction, "I was very mean-spirited. I can't say I didn't earn your distrust."

Gilbert flinched as Charlie poked the old wound. "I remember now," Gilbert whispered, "But I wasn't sure about telling you, so I did try to nestle it in a joke." He swallowed down the memory of Charlie's cruel laughter and his attempt to backtrack his confession.

"Gilbert, I'm very sorry for laughing at you," Charlie finally concluded. "Although, to be fair to my youthful past, I probably would have laughed anyway, no matter how you dressed it. I never did believe you. Thought for sure you were pulling my leg."

"I should have never tried to tell you," Gilbert sighed. "I was twelve, I was leaving, you wanted to know why. We were best friends at the time. Only one positive repercussion came from it. You put a fear in me not to tell anyone. I forgive you Charlie, but, I'll never be comfortable in talking with you about being a witch."

"That's more than fair," Charlie returned. "Now, can you be happy I'm going to marry your cousin?"

"No!" Gilbert said forcefully. The truth was though, Gilbert did feel a little more at ease with Helen's decision.

* * *

Back in September, around Gilbert's birthday, he realized with a bit of shame, he had been neglecting his parents when on the island. He wanted his folks to know that he still their one and only child, and he also wanted them to see his growth with magic. Gilbert had mastered the supernatural power of bi-location and was incorporating that ability with his healing powers. He could heal people with pinpoint accuracy, which meant, he would never again have a healing like Diana and her baby. He had learned control.

He proudly showed his father and mother his new power. Gilbert sat quietly in the living room as his other self unpacked his luggage. His mother first came around the corner, her hazel eyes wide with amazement. She had just talked to him in his room and was also still there. But there he was in front of her too! Similarly, John rubbed his chin as he returned from Gilbert's bedroom to the parlor, also witnessing both of his bodies. "You do that better than Ray does." When John was a boy he was the one that had to watch over his brother's dormant body. "But you know, Raymond, he never understood that his magic was there for a reason. You've taken a power that seems random and are using it to improve your healing, and I'm proud of you for that. Ray just thought it was fun stuff." Laughter followed and his father went into a story about his boyhood. "You wouldn't believe the pranks he pulled. There was this one time he was mad at some old schoolmaster. That poor fellow was caught drinking moonshine whiskey and your uncle decided to double up on him with bi-location. I think that poor man swore off the bottle the rest of his life."

"That was a horrible thing to do!" Gilbert voiced, but his hazel eyes were smiling in contradiction. It had already occurred to him his power to tease had expounded a hundredfold. "These powers aren't about us, are they? They're about helping people—I would say it's God working through us, but that sounds conceited. I don't quite mean it that way, but it's close."

John's eyes lifted to a decorative cross hanging on the wall. He had taught Gilbert the moral path well. "How'd you discover you could do bi-location?"

Gilbert jumped. He surely couldn't tell his parents that he had been fantasizing about Anne, not after bringing up God and His righteousness. "Well—let's just say it had something to do with Anne. I wanted to see her and I found a way—accidentally, of course." He then felt his face turn redder than a pickled beet.

His mother lifted her brows to her hairline—clearly understanding more than what Gilbert admitted to. She was about to say something but her husband interrupted, advising, "Let it go, Geri. He's a man now." The silence that followed was full of innuendo. The cross on the wall now seemed overtaken by shadows. "There hasn't been any more accidents, has there?" His father inquired gently.

Gilbert's heart skipped a beat, "Nothing that I can't shut down fast, Father."

Visiting Anne in her bed happened infrequently, but it still occurred, especially when Gilbert felt stressed. He would fade in and fade out next to her. As soon as he realized what was happening, he stopped it. That did not stop Anne from noticing his comings and goings as fast as they were. Anne fired off letters to him complaining about being haunted.

Other arrangements were created to curb those nocturnal visits. Anne would meet her spook at regular intervals in the cemetery off of Trent Street, usually in the late afternoon before the supper hour. Twenty minutes was as long as Gilbert could stay, even with adjustments. He kept his body more ethereal when bi-locating. It was less jarring on him and allowed his dormant body to do normal things; like quietly sit or perhaps hold a book and feign reading. Keeping his other body flexible also allowed him to modify his appearance slightly. He was trying to hide his new mustache from Anne until it was thicker.

Geraldine studied her son as his pinkish cheeks returned back to a normal flesh tone. He had obviously had some sort of experience with Anne. He would have never had turned that red if not. Hadn't they, herself and John, and Marilla, encouraged Gilbert and Anne to be physically close? If their children had crossed a line, was it really that surprising? He wasn't a boy off at school anymore, Gilbert was a man preparing for marriage. She saw how he longed for his bride the few hours he had been home. And strangely, she pitied her son more than she questioned his actions.

Later on that afternoon, she caught Gilbert looking out the window towards Green Gables. He did not mention Anne, but she knew. "There now Gilbert—give me a hug and go say hello to Anne. I'm sure you'll want to bundle tonight. It promises to be cold."

"Mother, I was planning on focusing on you and Dad at the start of this holiday. I do love you too, you know."

"That's sweet but, you're in love with a beautiful young woman and there's something dreadful about spending time with old folks when you don't have to." Geraldine went and found Gilbert's coat and handed it to him. "It's quite alright Gilbert. Anne's probably wondering why you're not over there yet anyway."

"Listen to your Mother," John said from the other end of the house.

A little perplexed, Gilbert stuffed his arms into his black woolen coat and proceeded to put on his gloves. His father approached with an outreached hand and his mother retreated into the kitchen. "Gilbert, you take the sleigh now. Hitch Rival up. Avoid walking in the woods. There are reports of rabies around us. Take the shotgun, in case you do encounter a sick animal. Do it a kindness. Mother and I are staying in tonight. We won't need it."

Gilbert's eyes lifted at the slight intone to his father's words. _Mother and I are staying in tonight._ Gilbert saw clearly he was being pushed out the door. The man that stood before him wasn't just his father, but a man that loved his wife as much as he loved his betrothed.

"Dad!" Gilbert admonished, not really wanting to know more.

John Blythe never shied away from Gilbert on any subject. He wrapped his arm around his shoulder and led him to the door.

"Since Helen moved out, it's like a second honeymoon," John admitted. "Don't be in a hurry to come home tomorrow morning either. We're enjoying our empty nest."

* * *

Gilbert sheltered Rival in the Green Gables stables next to Marilla's two dairy cows. He thought Rival next to the cows would be less upsetting to Marilla's team of horses. He knew immediately when he saw the sorrel that she was expecting a foal. He also knew that the sorrel was particular about strange horses. The stall Gilbert put Rival in needed to be cleaned. It was a completely selfish use of his powers, but he didn't want to go in the house smelling like a barn. He went to the far end to sit on a bench and then bi-located a second version of himself to do it. In the middle of raking, Davy found him.

"Hey Gilbert," Davy said crisply. His breath froze in the cold, dry air.

"Hey yourself!" Gilbert replied.

"Let me do that for you," Davy grabbed the rake from Gilbert's hands. "Saw you comin' from the Harrisons'. Dora, Anne, Miss Brooke and I were getting the tree from that little wood between our fields. I realized you and Anne would probably want to bundle tonight, and I needed to do the chores for your horse! So I ran over. Sorry!"

Gilbert stepped away and disappeared as a mist in front of Davy. Davy dropped his jaw in awe.

"I'm actually over here, Davy," Gilbert said from the bench. Davy turned around agile as a cat ready to spring. Gilbert waved. Davy's eyes were huge in his head. "I was just using my powers to clean the muck. I didn't want to go inside and stink."

Davy still needed time to process what he just saw.

"Is it true about the rabies epidemic?" Gilbert approached the young man.

"Yes," Davy woke up. "Folks are spooked something fierce, worried that some 'coon will come out and get them. That's crazy, 'coons stay away from folks. But Marilla makes us stick to the road and walk together now to school." He paused. "Did you get my letter?"

"Yes, along with Marilla's," Gilbert answered. He placed a hand on the side of Rival, he was waiting patiently to be unhitched. "I've been thinking about your question a lot actually."

Davy stopped raking and tried his darnedest to look convincing. "So—do you agree?"

Gilbert chuckled over Davy's earnestness. "I think I do. I don't want you and Dora to have secrets from each other. There's something unholy about it. She's your twin. I'll try to tell her tonight."

The smile on Davy's face was thanks enough. If Gilbert could, he would rather take Davy's knowledge of his powers away, instead of expanding his circle of confidants. Nevertheless, Gilbert conceded that if Davy had proven himself a good ally, Dora promised to be even more steadfast and reliable.

Davy returned to pitching clean hay into the stall as Gilbert unhitched and unbuckled Rival from his gear.

"The two-of-you-at-the-same-time power: That's the new one, right?"

"It's called bi-location and it is new to me, but others in my family have done it. It's also becoming more and more an extension of my healing powers." Gilbert took the rifle out of the sleigh and unloaded it. "Davy, I can project my healing powers to a degree now outside of myself, when I need to. Channeling my powers through touch is less and less necessary."

"And that's good?" Davy asked not sure if his question was a feeble one.

"It's very good," Gilbert reassured Davy's inquisitive stare. "And for me, it's a huge relief, I finally feel like I'm in control." But Gilbert stopped talking as he saw Davy was lost in his response again. Gilbert thought back to how he was at fourteen, "Would you like to see me do it again?"

Davy smiled nervously. "Yeah, it's rather hard to believe."

"Alright," Gilbert put the rifle down and stood before Davy. "Watch closely," A moment later Davy heard Gilbert call him from behind, even though he hadn't taken his eyes off of him. Davy's eyes widened and he turned to check.

"I'm over here," Gilbert waved at from the far wall of the barn.

"And I'm here still too," the Gilbert next to him nudged.

Davy blinked and felt really flabbergasted and confused.

"So, what you think?"

The fourteen-year-old replied hoarsely, "Don't do that when you tell Dora. That is _really_ weird."

* * *

Marilla filled Gilbert's teacup full and quietly sat down next to him. She pointed to the plate of plum puffs on the table, suggesting he take the edge off his hunger. She was still horrified that she had called Gilbert 'John' when she saw him with Davy. Her poor eyesight and the mustache Gilbert had grown fooled her completely. He looked so much like his father now, it unsettled her. She hoped he wasn't aware of her thoughts, not that mind reading was ever his talent, but sometimes, you can tell just looking carefully at a person you knew well, what they were thinking.

"I'm sure everyone will be back soon," Marilla said. "Although, I'm not sure where Rachel wandered off to. She's probably putting the finishing touches on Katherine's gift in her room."

Gilbert touched the rim of the rosebud china cup. "We can talk more freely with them away. I want to know, have you considered my offer, Marilla?"

Miss Cuthbert enjoyed hearing her name. "Gilbert Blythe, now you've decided to start calling me by my Christian name, after years and years of not doing so."

"I'm motivated to convince you," Gilbert answered with a mischievous grin. "I want to charm you—literally. I can restore your eyesight if you want me to. And I'd be very happy to do that."

"Your offer is a wonderful kindness, Gilbert," Miss Cuthbert replied, barely able to keep her face in check. "But, I can't get over how folks would react around these parts if I were to suddenly get my eyesight back. There would be a lot of questions, and.." She girded her decision with vocal hardiness. "They expect me to go blind one day. People would hunt for a reason if I don't. It's not safe for you."

"I see," Gilbert then choked on his unintentional pun, but Marilla laughed loudly. "I'm sorry. Do you want to explain it to Anne then?"

She was still laughing. "Oh, I can say something, I'll tell her you gave it your all."

"I appreciate that," His hazel eyes laughed with her. "Speaking of explaining things, I did get your letter and Davy's. Are you sure you want me to tell Dora?"

"Only if you want to," Marilla stood up and put her hand on her hip in thought. "It was Davy's idea and I don't care myself. Dora—she's predictable. She won't go flying off the handle and speak out of turn. I know you'd prefer the twins not know at all, but if Davy does, I don't see why she can't too."

"Then there's Mrs. Lynde—she'd be the last left in the house."

"I never figured out why you don't trust her."

"She's so outspoken," Gilbert answered. "She'll even tell you that."

"Those are two different things," Marilla said, now filling her own teacup. "I've been trusting her as a friend since we were girls. I trust her with my life around here. Anne would have never gone to Redmond if it wasn't for Rachel, that's a fact. You owe her in my opinion." Marilla words sounded a bit too contrived, perhaps defensive.

Gilbert felt a chill wash over the back of his neck. "You told her already, didn't you?"

"Gilbert Blythe—you worry so much about the wrong things," Marilla sidetracked. "Rachel is a friend. There is nothing to fear."

Gilbert wished he had a better response than a stern, disapproving look. He got up from the table and moved into the parlor. The others were back. He could hear Dora straining to bring the tree in and then he heard Anne's laughter as another woman's voice joined in vivaciously. Gilbert stepped around the corner and saw Anne dusting off snow from her coat.

"Anne?" He said softly. She would not be expecting him.

Anne's was startled _to meet a tall young man with hazel eyes and the beginnings of a mustache w_ _hich_ _made him look so much older and maturer that Anne had one awful moment wondering if it were really Gilbert or a stranger.*_

"Gilbert!" She jumped into his arms before depositing a few kisses on him. "What is this?" Anne asked as she touched the whiskers above his lip.

"Scar camouflage. Do you like it?"

"I don't dislike it," Anne grinned back. "I shall have to get used to kissing you all over again."

The statement took his breath away. It was so improper but it exactly what he wanted to hear. His pulse revved up a notch and the other words bouncing around the tight quarters of the foyer blended between his ears, but he picked up his name again as she attempted to introduce Miss Katherine Brooke.

"How do you do, Mr. Blythe," Katherine said to Gilbert. She gave him a puzzled look.

"Oh, just call me Gilbert," Gilbert heard himself say to the woman with remarkable coloring. Her light amber eyes did not match her dark hair. She looked as if she were about to sneeze. She rubbed her nose automatically.

"Very well, you may call me Katherine. I'm very pleased to meet you. Anne couldn't stop talking about you the entire way here." She pulled out her handkerchief.

Davy came stomping downstairs and passed under Katherine's nose. Her eyes began to water as the scent increased. Between Davy and Gilbert, Davy seemed doused in the fragrance, which was strange because she hadn't noticed it on Davy before.

"Davy, do you and Dora know how to play cards?" Katherine asked thinking Anne and Gilbert needed some time alone. "I have a deck in my bag. I always carry one. I play solitaire, but I know other games we can play." She pushed the pair into the kitchen. Katherine saw a look of thanks flash over Anne's face as Anne slipped her hand into Gilbert's. Gilbert looked into Anne's gray eyes and grinned as he wriggled his upper lip mischievously.

* * *

Dora Keith asked to be excused from the kitchen after the third round of "Old Maid". She poked her head into the parlor to find Anne and Gilbert sitting together on the sofa, enjoying the fire before them. They were washed in the red tones of flickering flames. She hated breaking their circle. Anne was curled up along his side and Gilbert had his arm over her shoulders. They looked almost asleep but both of them stirred when the door opened.

"I'm headed up for the night, Anne," Dora said with a slight yawn. She was bored more than tired. "Gilbert—I have your five dollar prize upstairs, shall I go get it?"

"You won five dollars?" Anne squirmed trying to sit up straight, Gilbert stopped her from changing her position against him.

"Sure, go get it," Gilbert answered Dora.

Dora shut the door and Anne touched his ear to gain his attention. "What prize did you win?"

"You know how Dora showed me how to embroiderer last winter?" Gilbert confessed, "I embroiderer a sampler under her direction last summer and she entered it in the Charlottetown Needlecraft Exposition. And I won third place!"

"You did not," Anne accused. "Mrs. Lynde follows that exposition like a hawk. She would have told me and everyone else around here if so."

"Yes, I know. Which is why I entered my sampler under a pseudonym."

Dora closed the door behind her as she re-entered the parlor. She had combed out her long blonde hair and pulled it back into a low ponytail that swung down to her knees. It swished like a frayed, golden rope. In her hand was a five dollar check. She passed it to Gilbert, but Anne snatched it away from him.

"It says, 'Pay to the Order of Betel Brightly'." Anne snickered. "How'd you come up with that name?"

Gilbert ignored Anne at the moment as he watched Dora leave. "Dora, I want to talk to you about something important, could we visit a moment?"

Dora nodded and found a spot in front of Gilbert on a footstool.

"Anne?" Gilbert patted her knee. "Go to the kitchen, make sure we're not interrupted. It's time Dora knows."

"Oh," Anne muttered. She rested a comforting hand on his shoulder as she stood. Dora watched Anne leave. There was an excitement in her step which didn't agree with the reassuring touch she had given Gilbert.

"Am I in trouble?" Dora asked him. Her hazel eyes glanced down to the end of the ponytail. She played with the end, twisting it into submission.

"No, you're not in trouble," Gilbert sat up, "I'm the one in trouble—with you, maybe. You see Dora, Davy found out something about me last Christmas and made a promise not to share it with anyone, even you. But he wrote me last month requesting I tell you this secret. Marilla knows what I'm going to tell you and she agrees you're responsible. And I trust you, so it's time for you to know too."

"Davy, he has been hiding something from me."

"Right," Gilbert answered. "Davy discovered that I am able to heal people, supernaturally—using magic." Gilbert gave the words heal, supernaturally and magic a tad more emphasis. He waited for her reaction. Dora's face started to glow with his news, and she smiled at him. Feeling safe, Gilbert went on, "I'm a witch, a Blythe, just like my cousin Helen, only, my gifts are different. She was a seer and I'm a healer."

"Oh," Dora exhaled. She kept her eyes on the ground and muttered, "Minnie May Barry thought so."

"You cannot tell Minnie May about me...or anyone else," Gilbert said sternly.

Dora lifted her chin and Gilbert saw her face was a tad angry. "I wasn't going to say a thing, Gilbert!" She glanced away and took a deep breath. "How does it work then?"

"Mostly with touch," Gilbert replied. "When someone is sick with either a disease or an injury, I can hold their hand and see what's the matter. It's not hard for me to diagnose, in fact, at school there's a running joke about it, I'm Dr. Diagnosis there. But to heal someone, sometimes I have to put thought into it. I'm far from perfect. Subtlety is something I'm still working on, but I am getting better."

"And Anne knows?"

"She was the first person I told," Gilbert's voice warmed the room. "She had a harder time with the information than she let on, but, she's now used to it. You can talk to her about it if you like. I don't mind."

Dora grabbed the end of her ponytail again. "May I ask you something—but you cannot say anything to anyone about it. But I do think you'd understand."

"Alright," Gilbert scooted closer to the end of the sofa as she turned her head to make sure they were still alone.

Dora plainly asked, "Am I really too young to be in love? I'm fourteen and isn't that the same age you were when Anne broke her slate on your head?"

Gilbert withdrew his gaze for a moment. "And that's when I've always said I fell in love with Anne." Returning his eyes back to hers, "You know my answer then, but why ask it?"

"Ralph Andrews proposed to me," Dora exhaled slowly. "I told him 'yes', as soon as I have permission, I will marry him."

"Dora!" Gilbert almost shouted. "You're fourteen."

"But you just said.."

"I was in love with Anne, true, but I didn't ask her to marry me until many years later." He babbled, "Of course, I spent a few of those beginning years just trying to get her to talk with me. But that's neither here nor there. Please don't commit yourself to anyone yet."

"I'm not of age, so I can't." Dora replied to Gilbert's immediate relief, "but Mother Andrews knows our intent and supports us, but I don't think Marilla would. Unless maybe you and Anne spoke in my favor. Would you do that for me? Marilla could give her consent and allow me to marry early. All she needs to do is sign a paper."

"Marilla will not do that. She would think us insane to ask her to," He couldn't believe how this quiet, unassuming girl had turned their conversation. "How old is Ralph now?" Gilbert was trying to collect facts.

"He's sixteen. He's old enough to start farming and set up a household." Gilbert knew that the Andrews had several fallow fields just waiting for crops. He understood why they might be anxious to return them to farmland. Dora continued, "There's nothing I want more than to be his wife. I love him Gilbert. It's such a terrible feeling to be so in love with someone but not be able to express it." Dora sighed. "Even if you think I'm foolish, I'm relieved to tell someone. I'm really very happy."

"Dora, thank you for trusting me, but you can wait. At least finish school first," Gilbert implored. "I won't say anything to anyone in fair exchange for what I've told you, but my suggestion is you speak with Marilla. She is your guardian and she does know a thing or two about love and sacrifice."

Dora huffed in indignation. "Now you're lying to me. Marilla's never been married or in love. She wouldn't have any idea what it feels like to be so."

"Dora, you're wrong," Gilbert answered. "I know she seems that way, but you cannot judge a book by its cover. But you'll never know for sure if you hide this from her. Talk to her, tell her how you feel for Ralph."

Dora gave Gilbert one fleeting look. A tear slowly dribbled down her check. All her hopes had been pinned on him. Seeing no use in arguing further, she quickly departed, holding her handkerchief to her face.

 **to be continued**

* * *

*Anne of Windy Poplars


	16. Noel (part 2)

Timeline - _Anne of Windy Poplars, The Second Year._ This chapter contours chapters 5  & 6.

* * *

 **Chapter 16: Noel (Part 2)**

Fred Wright sat alone in his kitchen with one ear out for his wife in the parlor and another ear out for his young son. Diana was showing off their infant daughter to Anne, Gilbert and Miss Brooke. Fred had stayed only long enough to say hello and shake Gilbert's hand. He had work to do that Sunday afternoon in addition to managing their napping toddler.

Diana had prepared a plate of finger foods for Freddie and Fred's job was to bring him down for the snack once he woke. But until then, Fred had decisions to make. On the large table, next to his Bible and the official documents of the Avonlea church, was the application of a man wanting to join. Fred's duty as an elder was to investigate the applicant's qualifications. He filled his cup with tea and sat down, resolute to reach a final conclusion.

Mr. Henry "Hank" Marin had no education or trade. He was a poor widower and father of one. But what he lacked in schooling he made up for spiritually. He was filled with the Holy Spirit and lived day to day trusting in Providence. He was joyful in his demeanor and credited Jesus for his happy attitude. And Fred, among others, found his contentment in Christ remarkably infectious.

Hank's request should be an open and shut case, but last weekend, Fred visited Mr. Marin at his home in New Halifax, the colored community. Fred was surprised by his address, for Mr. Marin was white. He discovered that Hank's deceased spouse was colored and his daughter's complexion reflected this fact. _What a pity!_

Fred interviewed the young lady briefly. His daughter was thirteen, sharp as a tack and equally on fire for the Lord. She worked odd jobs in Carmody to help support their rather meager household. Fred might have dashed their hopes then and there realizing that Mr. Marin's colored child would not be accepted in their white church, but he didn't. He just couldn't do that. Fred felt he owed them due process if nothing else.

Instead, he gave Hank an encouraging smile as they worked on the printed questionnaire. He collected Hank's demographics, learned that Mr. Marin had been a sailor and brought his wife to Nova Scotia after marrying her in Havana. Fred also learned Hank had received his faith radically, a real 'come to Jesus' moment where the Almighty had to be acknowledged. "I was such a doubting Thomas," Hank said. "I didn't want to believe. God had to slap me across the face to wake me up, and after, I just—well, _I had to believe_. I could do nothing else but be amazed."

As Fred received the story, he couldn't help but inwardly chuckle as he envisioned Mrs. Lynde, or Mrs. Andrews, being put in their place by his witness. All those prim and proper, self-righteous church ladies that enjoyed the sin of gossip would be put to shame once they realized the shallowness of their faith compared to Mr. Marin's.

Fred attempted to succinctly record Mr. Marin's faith walk on the blank lines. "Maybe you could write a letter to the church, explaining your 'come to Jesus' moment?" Fred suggested. "My summary doesn't do it credit."

"My writing isn't too good," Mr. Marin apologized for his lame hand. He lifted it up and showed his fingers, "I got the shakes out at sea. And my hands haven't gripped right since. I'm no good to a captain if I can't pull a rope. Can't hold a pencil right either."

"Well, we'll manage as is then," Fred declared. "I'm not requiring you to write it down. Your oral testimony is strong enough, as long as you don't mind repeating yourself." Fred went back to the paper, having yielded so much time to Hank's story. He asked the final question uncomfortably. "Forgive me in asking, but why do you want to join the church in Avonlea?" He added, "Isn't the colored church closer and better for your daughter? Will they not take you because you're white?"

"School for my daughter," Mr. Marin explained. "If we were members of your church, then maybe my girl could go to the good school in Avonlea. The Carmody school won't take her and our school here in New Halifax has no books."

"Yes, I see," Fred replied. _That was wishful thinking._ He picked up his pen and held its point over the blank to fill. "And is _that_ the answer you want to give for the other elders?"

Hank rubbed his chin in thought. "No sir! Say instead that the Avonlea church is better for me and my girl. Fits work. I want to help with the planting and the harvest. I want to farm. Avonlea will be our home soon, God willing."

Fred completed the form and stored it away in his briefcase. He thanked the Marin's for their hospitality. The tea had been hot and strong and the slices of pumpkin pie excellent; however, Fred worried that Mr. Marin's request would not come to fruition.

For the rest of the week, try as he might, Fred could not find anything in the articles of their faith that a church member could use to stop Mr. Marin's application from moving forward. The man was white after all! He couldn't see any grounds for refusing. So he completed his portion of the application with his recommendation and would leave it with the senior elder. He would simply have to wait and see; although, he suspected, that the graybeards would dredge up some old canonical law and stop the application in its tracks, once they learned of his bi-racial daughter.

Those same graybeards would then approach _him_ over the controversy. It was _his_ recommendation after all. Fred sincerely hoped he would be able to withstand the scrutiny. He needed to plan a defense. Saying 'no' to the man was not in the spirit of their faith or even civic community, at least not in Fred's estimation.

His ear picked up the laughter of women from the parlor and then the noise went mute again. He supposed that someone had left the room. A moment later Gilbert stepped into the kitchen. Fred motioned for Gil to sit down next to him as he neatened up the papers into piles and closed his Holy Bible.

"Has Anne stopped crying yet?" Fred asked. She had made quite the performance when Diana introduced their new baby. "She's part woman, part water fountain. You better watch yourself there!"

"You can hardly blame her, you and Diana!" Gilbert smiled, "That was really, _really,_ nice; naming your daughter Anne Cordelia. Thank you!"

"No Gil, it's our way of thanking the two of you," Fred countered. "You brought us Dr. Felder. _Y_ _ou_ _,_ Gilbert, did more than what anyone might expect."

"Well, that might be true," was all Gilbert would acknowledge, not sure if Fred had made an allusion to his powers. Changing the subject to a safer one, Gilbert pointed at the collection of church by-laws stacked near him. "You've got quite the pile of paper. Maybe you should have gone to Queens with the rest of us. You had it in you."

"Yes, who would have thunk it?" Fred managed as he stifled his laughter. He was momentarily distracted by Gil's appearance. Gil's dark, handlebar mustache made him look a dandy. "You know Gil, I never availed myself much to paperwork at school, but since I became an elder, it's nothing but. It's read this budget, or study this sermon, or here's next week's agenda. And it's nothing but meeting after meeting."

"Why do you think I said no?" Gilbert picked up Fred's Bible and started thumbing through it. "I briefly considered teaching a Sunday School class but decided against it. Maybe I should have said 'yes'. I got typhoid right after I gave my answer."

"Well, that will teach you!"

Gilbert's laughter fell quiet as he silently read from the thin, white pages of Fred's black, leather-bound Holy Bible. Fred grew nervous watching him. He had heavily notated any reference to witchcraft in the margins and Fred did not want Gilbert to see his scribbles. He knew he had stepped on Gilbert's toes when he mentioned Helen and her claims of being a witch last Christmas. But lately—well, Fred _couldn't_ suppose it. He _wouldn't_ believe his hunch that Gilbert was a witch too. Not unless he had to. Not unless it was forced on him. His notes reflected how the thought pestered him.

"I had a selfish reason for agreeing to become an elder, Gilbert. I wanted to give Diana and our children a bit more standing in the village. To be honest Gil, sometimes I think maybe I'd be better off without the church. Especially when common sense and scripture collide."

Gilbert did not respond to Fred's statements, instead, he bent his head down as his forefinger glided over some verse.

"So, what are reading?" Fred asked nervously, with one brow pushed up to his hairline.

"Acts 2" Gilbert answered. "Pentecost. You've got some interesting notes here in the margin." _Supernatural powers, not witchcraft_ was written in Fred's minuscule hand.

Fred's reply surprised Gilbert, "I've been thinking about St. Peter lately. He was Jesus' friend and a terrible one at that. Denied Him three times. And then by the grace of God he gets all these supernatural powers after Christ's ascension. Something happened to that apostle when he received the Holy Spirit and I need to know what it was. Speaking in tongues is only one of the supernatural gifts he had, he could also see things, he could also... _heal_."

Gilbert shivered for reasons not related to the temperature outside. Fred was suspicious of him. He felt in his pause and heard it in his inflection. Gilbert never figured Fred to be stupid.

"Gilbert, let me ask you what you think about the supernatural gift of tongues. St. Peter speaks and the crowd understands him in their native languages. The list of nations represented in the crowd of three thousand is extensive. Do you think perhaps this gift Peter has is proof that we're all one tribe now? That we're all one nation with one language? That the doctrines espousing 'separate but equal' are in error?"

More surprises from Fred! Gilbert was glad though not to talk about the seeing or healing powers of St. Peter. "You're saying that the miracle at Pentecost atoned for the Table of Nations*?" Impressed, "That's _very_ insightful."

Fred grimaced thinking of Mr. Marin and his mulatto child. "Do you think my argument holds water? I'm anticipating a problem with other presbyters and I thought that my example would help my position. But I've got no letters behind my name and I'm no theologian either."

"Well—honestly Fred," Gilbert leaned toward him a tad. "I think the more important question is, do you believe your argument holds water?"

"I think I'm right," Fred answered. "Perhaps the private revelation of a farmer means nothing to learned men, but I sense I'm on the cusp of understanding something important, something bigger than myself. There are things I've seen and they're making me rethink everything. But in this case, I do believe though that my instincts are right."

"Fred, you don't need my opinion then!" Gilbert rallied, "Just live your convictions and trust that good will come from them."

* * *

Marilla Cuthbert permitted Dora Keith to attend the Christmas Concert and Abner Sloane's post-party after an exhausting conversation with Mrs. Barry. In typical fashion, Mrs. Barry approached Marilla about the matter immediately following church services with Dora in earshot. All forms of flattery were poured out to beguile Marilla's consent. Dora could even stay overnight at Orchard Slope. Marilla felt cornered. It was impossible to point out her objections without offending Dora. Instead, Marilla insisted that it would be better if she could call on Orchard Slope that afternoon.

Marilla stepped out of Green Gables wearing her best hat and her amethyst brooch double pinned on her winter coat's lapel. She walked steadily down the path with more than a little bit of steam driving her legs. She wasn't going to be told by that silly woman what was right for her ward. Marilla mentally repeated her objections against allowing Dora to attend what was sure to be a very grown-up party.

First—Dora was too young. She and Davy had just turned fourteen a couple of weeks ago. Second—Dora would probably find herself lost in such a big crowd. Social butterfly she was not. And third—and this was the primary reason that Marilla was inclined to withhold consent, Dora Keith was beautiful.

Anne was a pretty girl with delicate features and lively personality, but Dora resembled a Norse goddess. She was tall and buxom—with long blonde hair and soft green-brown eyes and skin as smooth as cream. She looked nineteen, not fourteen, and Marilla had already seen grown men stare at her in a way that made her uncomfortable. Sending this pretty, yet socially awkward girl to Sloane's party would only invite trouble. Marilla was sure of it.

Mrs. Barry, however, made Marilla many, _many_ assurances that Dora would be watched closely and that all her dance partners would be boys that she already knew. Mrs. Barry herself would maintain Dora's dance card just to be sure no strange men would be allowed to dance with Dora. The Barry's also planned to leave early, as Mrs. Barry wanted to stop next door and see her Diana and her baby. Marilla caved after Mrs. Barry reminded Marilla that Anne was a similar age when she was first allowed to attend such events with them.

On the walk back to Green Gables, Marilla chastised herself for letting her resolve slip. She agreed to allow the Barry's to chaperon Dora because she was sick of trying to build arguments that were ignored. And Dora _was_ a good girl after all. She did agree with that characterization. She just had to drill into Dora's head what was expected.

"You promise not to dance with strangers or strange men?" Marilla decided she needed to cast a pretty wide net. Dora was too congenial at times and there were quite a few more kooks around town these days.

"Yes Marilla," Dora said.

"And you'll help Mrs. Barry and do what she asks?"

Dora nodded.

"Well, I know you to be a good girl and I don't expect you'll slip on that point."

"Marilla?" Dora asked. "Did you ever go to a party?"

The question surprised her. "Parties in my day aren't like the ones today, but yes. I once attended a party. I had a really nice time in fact. That's because I behaved myself." Marilla emphasized. "I hope you have a nice time too."

Dora smiled. Ralph was going to be there and she had a new dress to wear. "I'll be good, Marilla," Dora promised. "Thank you for letting me go."

Marilla watched Dora leave and she wiped her hands in the folds of her apron, not that they were dirty. It was in these moments she really missed Mathew. He was much better at delicate, emotional stuff. Probably because he didn't realize that young ladies could have such passionate cores. He hadn't been one of them, but Marilla had.

* * *

Gilbert Blythe watched his own breath crystallize in the cold air as he knocked on the familiar oak door. It wasn't unbearably frigid and Rival could stand a few minutes. A very grown-up looking Dora Keith allowed him entry. She was wearing a blue dress and had her hair half up and the rest pulled back in a single braid with silver ribbons adored throughout. Her skirt went to the floor, truly a sign of a young lady.

Gilbert wiped his feet on the mat and removed his hat. "Dora, you look very nice tonight. Are you going to the party too?"

Dora nodded. "Yes, as the Barry's guest tonight. They'll be here any moment actually."

"You didn't talk with Marilla, did you? About Ralph?" Gilbert thought she probably hadn't. He resolved to keep reminding her to do it. He could see she was stubborn as an ox.

"No," Dora answered. "Marilla's an old spinster. I thought I might try Mrs. Lynde when she gets back from her holiday," She ignored his disapproving frown, "I'll go tell Anne and Miss Brooke you're here."

Gilbert placed his hand on Dora's shoulder and leveled his eyes to hers, stooping just a tiny bit. "Tell Marilla, Dora. Give her a chance. You're not being fair to her and you won't be any worse off than you are now."

Dora couldn't hold his gaze and she blinked down. She changed the subject. "Ralph doesn't know how to dance. He'll be there tonight." Gilbert let go of her shoulder.

"I'll try to give him a pointer," Gilbert offered. "But I'll be all over the place tonight, helping Anne and Katherine. I'll be helping Helen too make rounds to their guests. You know, Mr. Sloane isn't throwing this party as a holiday fête. It's really to celebrate Charlie Sloane's engagement to my cousin; and by extension, I have responsibilities."

Dora gave a slight smile. "I'm happy for her, Gilbert. Miss Blythe reminds me of wintergreen, you know, the scent. Pungent, but lovely too. You don't realize how much you like the fragrance until it's almost gone. I miss seeing her around town."

"You should tell Helen that," Gilbert encouraged. "I think she'd loved to know she's made that sort of impact on you."

Dora nodded feeling a bit shy. "I'll go up and get them now. Thank you, Gil."

"You're very welcomed!" Gilbert said as Dora ascended the stairs up and out of sight.

* * *

Katherine stood back a few feet and watched as the photographer posed Anne and Gilbert for their portrait. Abner Sloane's nephew ran a small photography studio in Newbridge and in true Sloane fashion (even though his name was Murray) he seized the opportunity to profit by bringing his gear with him to his uncle's party.

After Helen and Charlie's photograph, commemorating their engagement, Anne and Gilbert stepped forward for their first portrait together. They didn't want a traditional pose, where he sat in a plush chair and she stood next to him with her hand on his shoulder. No, they asked if they could have something that reflected how they were when together, as they weren't the type to sit or stand like stiff pokers.

That made the photographer pause. "I have to pose you still. The trick with photography is you stay perfectly still as the image imprints itself on the glass. Maybe if I observe you for a while I can get an idea of how you two click."

The photographer then asked them to whisper endearments to each other. Gilbert went first and leaned into Anne's ear and spoke quietly. Sure enough, Anne's face glowed and a smile spread across her chin. Anne then told him her thoughts as she leaned into his space. Gilbert's cheeks blossomed pink and his mustache quivered. Whatever Anne had told him, he felt the need to kiss Anne on the apple of her smile.

"There!" The photographer said with excitement. "That's the pose I want to take of you. Right before you kiss your young lady, sir. Her eyes said so much when she realized your peck was coming. Try to remember your position and take it again."

It was hard to recreate the impromptu moment with a straight face. A slightly voyeuristic crowd started to gather around them. Gilbert held Anne's hand as he leaned in once again to offer a kiss on her cheek. Anne tilted her head in anticipation. Her gray eyes saw the rosy flesh of his upper lip below his dashing mustache.

"I see. You found your pose. You can take a break as I get the camera set up correctly."

The man reached into his truck of camera equipment and retrieved a metal cylinder. "I'm going to try this new lens. It's supposed to give some incredible depth of field. This accessory really enhances what the camera does." He locked the lens over the camera's pupil. He got behind the curtain again and adjusted the focus before holding up the explosive flash.

"Alright, places."

Anne and Gilbert took their places. Gil was in the mind to just plant his lips over Anne's and bear the "oohs" and "aahs". He didn't of course. Anne, on the other hand, was more impulsive. He wondered if she would maintain her composure as they held a position that begged for some sort of physical resolution.

"Don't move."

They heard and saw the flash and then the shutter click. The offensive smell of burnt chemicals floated around them as the experience ended with the soft pressure of their warm lips pressing together. "Ooooh!" Was heard from a distance.

* * *

Anne Shirley kept watch over Katherine Brooke's energy as the evening progressed. Katherine wasn't accustomed to so much attention. Anne assumed correctly she was the type to find social events a tad exhausting, even in the best circumstances. When Anne saw Katherine's mood start to slip, she quietly suggested to her that perhaps a sleigh-ride would be a perfect end to an otherwise perfect evening. They could count the stars as Gilbert drove. All the constellations of the sky were easy to see on such a clear night.

The idea agreed with the dark-haired, amber-eyed schoolmarm. Anne proceeded to find Gilbert to let them know they were ready to leave and Katherine went to the dressing room to review her appearance which had withered.

She wasn't sure how to correct her disheveled reflection. Her hair which Anne had coiled so smartly at the crown of her head was slipping. Katherine was tempted to pull out the entire bun and redo it her normal tight fashion, but she didn't. She would simply have to ask for help, lest she seemed ungrateful.

The red, chiffon collar Anne had made for her wasn't staying in place either. She toyed with it, trying to see if she could make it lie still. It was a fruitless endeavor.

"Here, let me help you," a kind voice came out from behind. "I have a knack with collars."

Katherine slowly pivoted to see who was speaking. She recognized Miss Blythe from the receiving line of hosts. Katherine blushed a bit because she thought Helen beautiful. Helen had a fashionable roundness and bright blue eyes.

"I'm fine, Miss Blythe. It's your party. Don't worry about _me_. You have guests."

"Nonsense"

Helen flanked Katherine's side and gave her a smile. "The party is not for _me_ anyway. It's for Charles. He's _finally_ engaged. The fact that he's engaged to me is only circumstantial." Helen lifted her hands up to indicate she needed to touch Katherine's gown. Her diamond reflected the light. The glints trailed in the air and captured Katherine's fancy for a second. "Forgive me? May I?"

"Of course," Katherine answered. She returned to her reflection and used it to watch Helen's fingers press the red collar against the green dress. Helen continued to finger-press around Katherine's entire neckline and décolleté, causing Katherine's heart to skip. Helen's nails dragged over her skin as she pinched the fabrics together in a reluctant union. Katherine's breathing normalized once the collar was secure and Helen removed her hand from the edge of her gown.

"Let me fix your hair too," Helen offered as she started to tackle the unkempt bun. "I taught Anne this style. I used to wear it myself when my hair was long."

"I often wonder if I should cut my hair," Katherine stated, not even trying to hide an envious tone to Helen's handsome locks. "I think I'd like my hair cut short, like yours. If I knew I'd look as well as you do with short hair, I'd do it tomorrow."

"I'm actually trying to grow it out, Miss Brooke."

Even after a year of growth, Helen's hair length could only be described as short. Helen started to replace hairpins. "I'm more practical than people think. I kept my hair short to prevent headaches, but in my experience, short hair isn't for everyone."

Anne entered the room holding Katherine's coat and hat. She was ready to leave. "Gilbert started walking over the Wright's to get the horse and sleigh. I think it's a lovely night for a stroll along the path, so we'll follow along slowly, arm in arm until we catch up."

Katherine started to put on her wraps. Helen bore a disagreeable countenance. "You can't be leaving already?"

"Yes," Katherine said, "I tire easily and a brisk walk will do me wonders. Anne is right. The night is clear as clear can be. I doubt there will be another as fine for quite a while."

"Well, I suppose this is goodnight then. Anne, thank you for coming, and .." she turned towards Katherine, "Thank you for the brilliant recitation earlier tonight at the concert. I told myself, I must get to know you."

Anne drew close to Helen and kissed her on the check. "Congratulations on finding some happiness. Tell Charlie goodnight for us."

Helen responded in kind as the women left. Her friendship with Charlie Sloane was one of the happiest things in her life at the moment. She felt at peace with her decision to accept him in marriage. She wasn't going to risk her future outright, but, she figured, it was fine to flirt still. Charles still flirted with his female classmates; Anne, Josie and her sister, Gertie. To Helen, Katherine looked to be remarkable fun after the way she jumped when she touched her. She hadn't had a thrill like that since Lynn.

* * *

Fred Wright made a habit in his evenings to chop wood for tomorrow's fires. The exercise dampened his own frustrations. That was especially true the night before. The minister asked him to rescind his recommendation on Mr. Marin's application to join the church. Fred said he would not. He couldn't see any grounds for refusing, and that, since they were a church, they had to approach this particular situation with the utmost charity.

"I am sure that there are other things we could do as a church to help his household," the Reverend advised, "we can put together a Christmas barrel, stock it with food and clothing."

Fred, whose emotions were generally steady, started to choke in disgust. "Never once did Mr. Marin ask for food or clothing. Yes, he and his colored child would benefit, I'm sure, but that's not what he requested. He wants _fellowship._ We're not helping him by dropping off a care package and saying 'no'—we're only easing our conscience."

"I am still hoping that you'd like to be in charge of that barrel," Mr. Reverend pushed back. "I am not here to argue with you, Mr. Wright. I am here to tell you what the other presbyters have decided."

"You met without me?"

"Informally, yes."

"Church business needs to be done with transparency, or else, how do we know someone isn't playing pope?"

"That's enough Elder Wright!" The Reverend mimicked a mother's scold. "Our church is hardly a Vatican. Perhaps you should spend a little time with our Lord in prayer. I am sure that the happy birth of your daughter has clouded your mind. Maybe, in the interest of everyone, you could step down from the session. All us fathers will understand and agree with your new priority."

Fred had considered ducking out of the controversy by stepping down, but then, what would happen with Mr. Marin? He would have no one to defend his application.

"Sir," Fred respectively said. "I mean to see Mr. Marin through the entire process. If you wish me to remove myself from the session, I will resign, but only after. I will not invalidate my recommendation in the process of forgoing my seat among the elders."

"Hmm," Reverend answered, putting on his black, wide-brimmed hat. "I see I won't convince you."

"No, sir. I'm sorry, I cannot be persuaded." Fred went through the routine of thanking the minister for coming out and wished him a safe return. The middle-aged man only shrugged as he grabbed the leather reins. His horse was keen to trot and leaped forwarded.

Fred chopped wood yesterday until Diana called for him.

Tonight he split logs because he and Diana were not able to attend the party up the lane. Diana wasn't quite up to it yet. Instead, he swung his heaviest ax, busting up timber. The party would be talked about for a long time. The Sloane's spared no expense. He would learn about it from his in-laws, but not see it for himself.

Everyone was there, except him.

The white covered landscape glowed with reflected light; the by-product of a full moon and a light, airy snow. He could count the sleighs lined up outside of Abner's ample stables. He felt abandoned by the old gang. His proximity to the party was his best contribution to the event.

Gilbert at least remembered he was there. He was stabling his horse and sleigh, choosing his stable over Abner Sloane's and his grooms.

Fred swung the ax down and spliced the timber. One log flew from the block with displaced force. "An object in motion stays in motion." Isn't that what Miss Stacy had taught about natural science. Fred began to pile the cut logs into easy-to-carry piles, thinking about the rest of his gang. Gilbert and Moody were still in school seeking advanced credentials. Charlie had found his niche in business. Fred did have an edge on the others when it came to women, having been the first of them to marry, but soon his contributions to their collective would unnecessary, once the others started their own families.

He could feel his irrelevancy creep up on him. Just like the foam-mouthed raccoon creeping along the side of the barn.

* * *

Katherine and Anne were not horribly behind Gilbert once they got started. A remarkable peace entered Anne's being as she inhaled the crisp, cool air circling her from behind. She was always much happier outside among the trees. Anne placed her hand into the crook of Katherine's arm. Every step they took brought them deeper into the moonshine glowing off the snow-laden landscape. Gilbert's tall figure was straight ahead. He slowed down his walk to let them catch-up. He had no interest in retracing his steps and walking into the gust blowing down the slope.

"You dance so well, Katherine!" Anne informed her with a merry laugh. "You were right to say so, but I wondered. I admit that I doubted you, so you'll have to forgive me."

"I should think my excellent dance partners deserve the credit," Katherine replied, not quite believing the flattery. "Your handsome Gilbert is rather good at dancing and Mr. Sloane too."

"Trust me, neither of them started that way. Ruby had to train them up a bit for first."

"Ruby?"

"Oh, she was a classmate of ours. It's a rather sad story, but Ruby was absorbed with matters of the heart, there was truly no one more fitting to teach the boys how to dance. She was a patient teacher."

"Was she here tonight? I don't recall meeting her"

Anne said in a wondrous voice, "Ruby wouldn't miss a party as grand as this one. I'd like to think her spirit was here. You see Katherine, Ruby passed away a few years ago. She died from consumption."

Katherine frowned. "I'm surprised at that."

"Consumption is normally fatal."

"Well, this is not a normal place, is it, Anne?" She could see Gilbert ahead of them by two-hundred feet. "There's a lot of magic around, I keep mentioning it and I'm not speaking in metaphor. I'm being literal, Anne."

Anne got really quiet and pulled her hand out of Katherine's arm. "You do keep saying such things. Why?"

"Oh—now I have a bit of a confession to make," Katherine stood still. "Umm...I'm not quite what I appear to be."

"You're not a witch, are you?"

"Oh goodness, no," Katherine responded. She took a few steps forward and she crossed her arms before her body in a defensive pose. "The witch family that lived down the street called my mother and me. .. . _leeches_. It's an incomplete term for what I am if I'm honest."

Anne stared at Katherine, her mouth wide open in a state of dismay. "What are you then?"

"There's no word for it, that I know of," Katherine answered. "I just know that those witches were always knocking at our door, trying to gain our help, and then accusing us of draining their powers. To use an analogy, I guess you can say we are like gemstones. Light passes through the prism and sparkles a new way. So it is with us and magic. When I was studying Latin for the first time, I thought the word _para_ fit. I can..."

Anne never actually heard what it was Katherine could do. The quiet of the evening screeched to a halt as the sound of a rifle blared out from their destination. It was a very loud BANG! Anne put her hands over her head and instinctively fell to the ground. It was not the first time she had heard the violent discharged of a gun. Mrs. Hammond had taught her what to do in case the men from the lumber mill got rowdy with their six-shooters. Anne looked up and saw Katherine still standing, white as a ghost. Her hands were on her leg. She mouthed, "help me" before collapsing into a puddle of her own blood.

Anne screamed.

Gilbert had covered his own ears when the blast echoed and tucked his head into his chest for the moment. He then could see Fred with the rifle in his peripheral. Gilbert couldn't stop himself, he instantly bi-located to Fred's side and tackled him to the ground and apprehended his firearm.

"Fred—don't shoot," Gilbert cried. "Stay down. Don't shoot. Someone's hurt."

It was never known if Fred had understood Gilbert. Fred was too far in shock once he realized he missed his target and hit a bystander. He didn't care about anything else but his own regret. He kept his head down in shame as he was made incapable to the crisis. He prayed for strength and intervention. He prayed for a miracle!

Gilbert heard Anne calling for him again. He desperately wanted to just appear next to her but instead forced himself not to react on his first thought. Eugene had been working with him on how to handle himself better in moments of duress. Gilbert closed down his second body knowing that the rifle would travel the distance with him to his dormant body. Gilbert dropped the weapon once his bodies reunited.

He then ran for all his worth up the little hill to Anne and Katherine's side.

Gilbert managed to stay calm in the building chaos. With Anne's help, he pulled up Katherine's skirt to see the remainder of her right thigh. Anne and he ripped the stocking and he put his hand over the dripping wound. Anne helped Katherine recline by supporting Katherine's head and neck as Gilbert conjured his healing powers. His hands were pressing down on the bullet hole and her pressure points. She had lost a lot of blood.

"Going," Katherine said quietly. "Let's get going," She muttered feebly. "I'm cold."

"Katherine, you're not going to die," Gilbert informed her with a supernatural certainty. "You're not going anywhere. Anne, give me some help here. Take off your mittens."

Once Mrs. Lynde's Christmas present was discarded for the wind to blow away, Anne put her hands over Gilbert's. She could feel the magical energies Gilbert wielded strengthen. She could feel the soft, warm feeling of his magic comforting and repairing Katherine's otherwise mortal wound.

Quick footsteps were ascending the same hill that Gilbert had scaled. Anne turned her head and saw Fred approaching fast, but Gilbert continued to heal, even after no more magic was needed. The overuse of his powers caused a magical mist that Katherine could smell and connect to. All she had to do was tell Gilbert what to think.

"Gilbert, I'm cold. Just try to… Think of the hearth at Green Gables. Warming up by the fire." Katherine implored.

Gilbert couldn't help but envision himself warm and safe in front of Marilla's fireplace. Katherine latched onto him like some strange magical accessory. His powers were stuck in the 'on' position and she tugged his mind, inserting a goal for his magic to follow. All at once he relented to her idea and wished them in front of that warm fire at Green Gables leaving Anne alone with a very confused Fred.

 **to be continued**

* * *

*Genesis 10 and the descendants of Noah which is often cited to support separate but equal attitudes. Also called The Table of Nations.


	17. Noel (part 3)

Timeline - _Anne of Windy Poplars, The Second Year._ This chapter contours chapters 5  & 6.

* * *

 **Chapter 17:** **Noel (Part 3)**

The world slowly dissolved before Gilbert's eyes like watercolors dripping down some unseen canvas. Everything was losing shape; although, Anne's shocked expression held out a bit longer. Between the two of them; on the hard, snowy earth; laid a scared Katherine Brooke. She would have bled to death from the bullet if not for Gilbert's supernatural intervention. And unlike the evaporating background, her image remained steady, visually confirming to Gilbert that she was experiencing this oddity too.

Gilbert was also quite aware that Fred was witnessing this unfortunate, magical moment. To Fred and Anne, Gilbert and Katherine must have been as disappearing mist. Gilbert observed Fred's amazement as Fred unsuccessfully attempted to blink away his dismay. The reverent gasp from Fred's deep voice was the last thing Gilbert heard as the background vanished completely.

He and Katherine were frozen in place as new scenery started to build from the ground up in a palette of incoherent hues.

 _What was happening?_

Gilbert was sure that it was his powers causing the changes he saw, but he was also sure it wasn't _his_ doing. It was Katherine's. It was _her_ influence. Gilbert shifted his gaze down to her white face. He accused her with his glare. Katherine's amber eyes yielded an admission which splashed him with anger.

 _What a mess!_

He was also mad at himself for indulging his curiosity. She had seduced him with thoughts of magical travel. This new power was so alluring his capitulation to temptation felt carnal. Together they cast this weird spell. Going they were no matter Gilbert's regret. He didn't want to leave Anne to sort out Fred.

Fred was already struggling to maintain the pretense of ignorance that allowed their friendship to remain intact. For almost a year, ever since they argued about Helen's witchcraft, Gilbert assumed that deep, _deep_ , down, Fred did know that Gilbert was a witch too. He had all the same clues everyone else did. Now the test was at hand. Would their friendship survive? Or would their interactions continued to be stiff and false; and be only a shadow of its former glory? Gilbert didn't want to give up on Fred. Even if Fred couldn't give his authentic friendship anymore, Gilbert wished him to know how much he valued it.

Instead, he had been stolen away by this unknown creature, Katherine Brooke.

* * *

"Oh my God," Fred blurted out as he reached forward, waving his gloved hand into the space where Gilbert had been. The vacancy was real. Fred turned around in a circle scanning the dark to see if they had merely been snatched away into its depths.

"Where'd they go, Anne?"

Anne was sitting on her bum with her legs stretched forward. She braced herself with her arms and tried to push up, but was unable to pull her legs underneath her hips. She fell on her side with a grunt. Fred watched her again try to stand before he realized he should be helping her. The shock of watching Gilbert and Miss Brooke disappear had circumvented his ability to perform basic courtesies.

"Here Anne!" Fred finally leaned forward and held out his hand. Anne took it and hoisted herself up, glad to be steady on her feet. She brushed snow from her dark coat. Fred waited patiently for Anne to reply to his question that hung over them like their own personal rain cloud.

At long last, she told Fred, "I think they went to Green Gables. I'm not sure that was Gilbert's plan though."

Confirmation struck as lightning so that Fred provided the thundering shudder. Fred's nostrils flared and his respiration smoked ice white. Emboldened by necessity, Fred's line of questioning remained direct. Normally, he was more of the type to hem and haw when addressing a lady with a question she may not want to answer.

"Gilbert _is_ a witch, _isn't_ he?"

Anne shuffled and thought about her answer. Fred wasn't asking her to break a confidence, he was asking her if he could believe what he saw. Gilbert would want her to minimize the damage and lying outright would only widen the potential rift between the two infamous friends.

"Even Doubting Thomas believed his own eyes, surely Fred, you can trust your own."

Fred looked away from Anne at that point, embarrassed that he put her on the spot. Gilbert was to be her spouse after all. He wouldn't want Diana to make confessions about him.

Anne took pity on his glum expression, "But you should talk with Gilbert. Put your hand in his side if you need to. He's still your friend, Fred."

Fred rubbed his face and sighed, "I haven't been much of a friend lately, not since we disagreed about Helen."

"Oh, you boys drive me nuts! I know men don't admit such things, but, he loves you, Fred. You're his best friend. You two have known each other since primary school. Don't detach yourself from him, at least, not over this."

Fred nodded his agreement. He could remember their first meeting. They ended up sitting next to each other in the clean grass as Gilbert's grandmother, Elizabeth, read about Saul encountering the Lord on the way to Damascus. The confrontation had turned Saul, an enemy, into St. Paul, the writer of so many epistles.

"I've known Gilbert since I was four," Fred casually remarked. "We met at Sunday School, over twenty years ago."

"He's still that same boy you met back then, only, a few decades older. Don't throw it away, Fred." Anne pleaded as she wrapped her arms around herself to warm up.

"I don't plan to."

Anne then grabbed his coat's sleeve. "Would you please show me inside? I need to calm down a bit."

"I understand," Fred's heartbeat hadn't slowed down either. They continued down the path to where Gilbert had abandoned Fred's rifle. Fred picked it up and unloaded its lead. In consternation, he softly said, "I shot Miss Brooke, didn't I? I was trying to kill a rabid 'coon. I didn't mean to." Fred's voice halted abruptly, unable to even utter what had happened.

"Fred, it was an accident," Anne assured. The very idea that Fred deliberately aimed at them was laughable.

"Please tell me she'll be alright," he muttered. His worry was more audible. "Please, Anne! Tell me what I need to know."

Anne let her hand fall into Fred's for a moment and she squeezed it. "Katherine is fine now, Fred. She's fine."

* * *

The dark gave the two of them new freedom. No one could see them or observe how they were together on the dance floor. They were closeted away among the coats and hats of Abner Sloane's late wife. It was quite a forgotten place in a house with so many rooms.

He had spent half-an-hour seeking the secluded spot. She had spent the entire night finding a way to slip her escort. Minnie May helped. Opportunities were not lost as the young man showed her a portal to privacy. The trouble they would get into if they were caught was half the fun.

He found his hand sliding gently along the curve of her side, resting easily on her hip as he delivered sloppy yet eager kisses. She was nervous, not scared. Never scared of him. She was only afraid of the creature he coaxed out of her. She clasped her hands together behind his neck after he delivered her a swooning kiss that made her legs weak.

"I love you, Dora. Come with us to Montréal next winter, please?"

"I'm working on it," Dora finally replied. "I need time."

"The age of consent is fourteen there," Ralph reminded her as he gently rubbed her arm. "You won't need Marilla's permission. We can marry. Mother will tell Jane what to do."

"Ralph—I can't do that. I can't go behind Marilla's back. Or Davy's. It's not _that_ easy."

"It is that easy, if you follow your heart," Dora felt his arms swoop down and lift her up which also caused some coats to escape their hangers.

"I'm sorry, Ralph" Her lips met his again in apology. "You can always talk with her for me. See how easy you find it."

"I just might have to do that," Ralph answered as he nuzzled a kiss into her jawline. The sensation of his mouth under her ear made her heart skip. Her excited laugh revealed their location. Youthful inexperience.

Dora shut her eyes as the light poured into their enclosure. Mrs. Barry groaned as she pulled Dora out and away from her betrothed.

* * *

Marilla reclined in her easy chair. Being alone at Green Gables was a rare treat and she intended to enjoy the few hours of quiet as they were so fleeting. Mrs. Lynde would be away until tomorrow afternoon. She was watching her grandchildren as her daughter and son-in-law visited old friends. Rachel rather enjoyed being Grandma! Marilla chuckled to herself, thinking that maybe she might experience that joy herself someday. It was an outcome Marilla would never have supposed possible, but who was she to challenge Providence? She was starting to savor the idea.

 _Grandchildren._

Truthfully, Marilla's musings were premature and she would never admit to having them, but in the privacy of her own mind, she could already see a lad with bright red hair that adored her. She knew in her heart of hearts that she was going to love all of Anne and Gilbert's babies like they were her own—magic or no magic. She didn't care.

She just hoped her eyesight would hold out until that day. That was more than two years away, at least, assuming Anne and Gilbert were able to behave themselves.

Marilla wondered again about her refusing Gilbert's offer to have her vision restored. Perhaps she should have said 'yes'. If it were Matthew, should wouldn't care what the neighbors thought, so why was she being so hard on herself?

The quilt slipped off as she dozed.

Could she hold any child of Anne's (or Dora's or Davy's) and not want to see its precious face? No, probably not. She must accept Gilbert's offer.

Marilla lifted her head drowsily to see the forms of Gilbert Blythe and Katherine Brooke seep into the parlor before the hearth. At first, she thought that the apparition was part of her daydream. And then saw blood sloshing out of Katherine's right boot and on to her new braided rug. There was little chance that detail would be part of her dear reverie.

"What on earth?" Marilla snapped to attention. She was quick to sop up the blood with her apron and she witnessed Katherine push her bloody skirt down as Gilbert removed his hands from her naked thigh.

Marilla stared at John's boy. His face was pink, hoping Marilla wasn't thinking extremes.

"Katherine was shot," Gilbert explained, "And I was healing her when the scenery changed. The next thing I know, we're here."

Horrified- "Katherine, you were shot! Well, that explains all this blood."

Katherine didn't say anything. She crawled away on her hands and knees to be closer to the fire, leaving a slight trail of blood behind her. She was shaking with chill.

Gilbert stared at her crumpled figure with Marilla. He hadn't noticed how badly Katherine looked until then, she was obviously suffering from exposure brought on by extreme blood loss. He put away his anger and approached the raggedy woman. He touched her icy hands and attempted to use his powers to heal her from the symptoms of frostbite.

 _Nothing!_

Frustration built but it would have to wait. The first priority was getting Katherine warm.

* * *

Once inside the Wright homestead, Anne found herself sitting in the nursery keeping her 'nephew' Freddie employed in some amusement as Diana lifted Anne Cordelia from her crib to nurse her. Freddie was starting to speak words and Anne had some hesitancy in confiding what had happened along the path to Abner Sloane's with the curious tyke present. What if he ran around saying "witch" even if he didn't understand the word? Still, Diana was asking and Fred had holed himself away in his study with his Bible and pen.

"So, Fred knows?" Diana concluded.

"Of course he does," Anne answered as she bit down on a nail. Freddie squirmed in Anne's lap, ready to be let down. "Gilbert and Katherine just disappeared right in front of us. I'm an imaginative person, but even I couldn't deflect that one."

Diana touched the side of Anne Cordelia's soft check as her daughter suckled at her breast. "Fred's been distracted lately, he's been reading that Bible of his every spare minute he has. When I ask he doesn't say much, but I snooped one night and he had written out a list of verses, all referencing witchcraft."

"Really? That sounds rather ominous."

Diana agreed, "Yet, for the life of me I don't think this is the end of their friendship. It's just a giant bump. I know Fred doesn't want to admit to Gilbert's healing powers. From what you've told me, he'll have to now. . . Miss Brooke will be alright?"

"Yes, I'm sure she's fine. I could feel how Gil's powers were working when my hands covered his." Anne stared at her own hands in wonder. "He says I help him. I haven't figured out how. He often insists I be near him when he feels weak."

"I think it's strange you didn't disappear with them," Diana voiced as she burped the baby. "It's even stranger Gilbert's not back to get you."

"I don't think he can," Anne suggested; believing correctly that Katherine had drained all his powers. _Leech indeed._ "Perhaps I should hitch up Rival myself and drive home."

"Oh, no!" Diana vehemently disagreed. "It's dark and you should be escorted. Mother promised to call on the way home from the party. I'm sure father will drop you off at Green Gables, and Fred will take care of Gilbert's horse. This is all quite manageable."

"Maybe I should stay overnight instead. I know Gilbert will come for me as soon as he can, and he should talk with Fred. They must."

"All the more reason for you to leave with Mother," Diana retorted as she cradled small Anne Cordelia. "I don't want Fred to believe the _only_ reason why Gilbert might call is to fetch you. He internalizes little things, makes conclusions, often bad ones, to avoid confrontation. I just don't want Fred jumping to the wrong end of things."

"Oh, Diana!" Anne shook her head to the possibility that Fred didn't see how much their friendship meant to Gilbert even though she tried to tell him. "Gilbert misses Fred. He wants to share all this with him, he does, but he's really rather frightened to because Fred's opinion matters like no one else's. In some ways, Fred should be flattered he's the last to know."

"Maybe," Diana said as she steered Anne and Freddie out of the nursery. "Let's go downstairs to the parlor and take bets on who will be first to arrive, Mother, in need to see her grandchildren, or Gilbert, knowing you're left here with us."

"I think doting Grandmother," Anne smiled, as she led Freddie by the hand.

* * *

"You really should have told me," Gilbert said as he attempted to warm Katherine's hands with his body heat. Her hands were pretty small compared to his and she trembled uncomfortably as he brought her palms up and into his armpit. He couldn't rub her hands with too much pressure, her skin was fragile.

She stared at his shirt buttons. "Oh, I'm _sure_ that would have gone over well," Katherine uttered through clenched teeth. She kept her jaw locked to prevent herself from chattering too hard, lest she bite her own tongue. "Gilbert, a conversation about magic was not going to happen in introductions. I figured I had plenty of time for _that_ particular discussion, should it ever be necessary."

"Guess what, it's necessary," Gilbert reported, "With your powers, you should have declared yourself when you realized what I was." He attempted to straighten her bent-with-cold fingers. "Does that hurt?"

Katherine winced. "A little."

Gilbert straightened them more.

"Fine, a lot!" Katherine wheezed.

"Good," Gilbert dropped her hands and helped her re-adjust the quilt draped over her frame. It was a heavy cover, giving her warmth and modesty now that she had been separated from her blood-soaked dress and underskirts.

Gilbert moved the footstool closer to the hearth and guided Katherine to sit.

"Let's look at those toes now," He squatted down over his heels to examine her feet, but briefly looked up as the parlor door opened. Marilla timed her return perfectly and placed a basin of warm water down next to them.

"Katherine, your clothes! That skirt!" Marilla shook her head, "I'm making a valiant effort here, but your dress is probably only good for rags. I've never seen so much blood."

Katherine gave a small chuckle which caused a crease between Marilla's eyes. "What's so funny?"

"Oh, it's nothing," Katherine said. Her laugh was more about breaking up her nervous state. Then she explained the irony. "Anne told me I needed a red dress."

"Oh goodness!" Marilla disapproved of such humor. "That's a rather drastic way to go about it. Red dress indeed..." Marilla huffed herself out of the room.

Gilbert released his smile at that point.

"You think it's funny?" Katherine arched. "I didn't know you had such dryness in you."

"Let's not talk about what might be inside me right now," Gilbert warned. His outrage refreshed, but later to Anne, he admitted the remark was funny, if not in poor taste.

He picked up the basin and placed it in her lap. Gently, he took her hands and showed her what to do. "The water shouldn't burn you, it's not hot enough, but you don't want to stress your skin either. Dunk your hands in and out of the water a few times and see if you notice any additional discomfort. If you can tolerate it, soak your hands."

"How are my feet, Doctor?"

"They're in better shape than your hands. Your wool stockings helped," He paused a moment, trying control his tone. "You'll come out fine, but, I'm not sure about myself. You stole my powers."

"Yes, I suppose we should talk about that," Katherine dunked her hands and then bravely lifted her face in apology. "I'm so sorry, Gilbert. I'm very sorry I used you like that. Please, forgive me."

It was sincere but Gilbert shook his head, "Why did you?"

Her face shifted into a calm expression. "I know I seem rather bold and unperturbed most the time, but I was simply scared. I thought my life was on the line. When I saw my chance to escape. I took it. That meant using you. I _am_ sorry."

More anger chipped away. She wasn't lying, her body had entered survival mode from the shock. Her judgment would have been clouded.

"But you knew about me, didn't you? And you chose to say _nothing_!" Gilbert reminded Katherine again.

"Yes, that's true, but I had a good reason. The only other witches I've known were opportunists. I needed to be reassured a bit before I was going to say anything. You don't like being used; neither do I."

"I'm not following you, what do you mean? Aren't you magic too? They way you used my powers is not part of my normal repertoire of tricks." Gilbert never knew his powers could be focused to a tightness allowing him personal travel across distance. It was still an exhilarating discovery.

"I'm not magic!" Katherine announced. "I wouldn't need your powers if I were. I'd have my own. That's why your powers are gone, but they will come back. And you'll be a little stronger, at least for a while. I gave you a new lens to focus them through." She chuckled to his consternation. "Gilbert, I gave you a temporary ability. You'll be able to transport yourself to almost anywhere for a while, once your powers come back. You're welcomed by the way."

"But..but, how?" Gilbert spluttered. "I mean, I can do that now, sort of, I mean. Bi-locate."

"Bi-location is a baby step," Katherine answered as Gilbert paced the room. "You feel that don't you? You know, I can smell how you over-use your powers. It gave me a foothold to latch on to, you left a door open."

"And you drained me as a result."

Katherine shook her head. "It's really not about the draining; it's about the correcting—purifying magic and even restoring abilities. My kind gives your kind a better focus. We're complementary." Katherine exhibited dismay at his confused face, "Gilbert, you're engaged to Anne! How do you not know this?"

"Anne?" Gilbert swallowed, "No, she's not like you. She can't do what you do."

"Well, she's _not_ in the same league as me, I'm pretty exceptional in that regard, but, you do _know_ about Anne. I heard you ask for her help when you were healing me. She's a perfectly lovely little filter. She strengthens and shields you, right?"

Gilbert sat on the sofa unwilling to believe. There was a logic to what she said but. . . _No. Anne was not like Katherine._

"Katherine—if Anne does anything to help me with my magic, it's because she _loves_ me. I know it that to be the truth. There's no other reason."

Katherine flushed a bit for Gilbert, he was rather naïve. "I'm sure you're right," Katherine responded as she once again pulled her hands out of the warm water. "You've known Anne a lot longer than I have. I am sure that I don't know what I'm talking about—at all."

* * *

Anne pushed Dora through the front door of Green Gables. The Barry's showed up at the Wright's as expected and promptly agreed to take Anne with them on their way home. In the meantime, Mrs. Barry gave Anne a full report of Dora's nightly adventures with a certain Mr. Ralph Andrews. Anne didn't think such disobedience was possible from Dora. Necking in a closet? Dora didn't fight the charge. She simply informed Anne that she was in love.

"You love him?" Anne hushed, "Dora—you're awfully young to be in love."

"No, I'm not," Dora answered. "I'm not you. My life has no 'bends in the road'. I see my future and it's _him_. But please, don't tell Marilla. She has all these ideas that I'm going to Queens and college and will eventually be a teacher like you. And you're such a tough act to follow, even if I wanted such things, you have no idea."

It was the most Dora had ever shared with Anne about her interior life. Anne saw Dora's plight. She was out-shined by Davy's personality, and then, Anne was held up to her as a model to emulate. Dora could never be as Anne and Anne could never be as Dora. Anne explained to Dora she certainly was going to tell Marilla. She had to. Marilla would want to know why Dora's invitation to stay overnight with Minnie May Barry was rescinded.

"But I tell you what," Anne vowed. "I will do my best to help Marilla see that you and I are two very different girls, and hopefully, Marilla will understand that her expectations for me, should not be refitted over you. I do think she knows this already, but I'll make sure."

Any plans to talk to Marilla were halted as soon as she got her hat and coat off. Gilbert intercepted Anne in the foyer and lifted her up and into his embrace. That allowed Dora a chance to slip away and to her room. Before she could call Dora back Gilbert had his mouth on Anne's, his lips and chin exerting just enough pressure that Anne parted her lips for a deeper exchange. She felt like a tiny leaf in his manly arms, unable to do anything but participate in his audacious show of affection.

"Gilbert John!"

"Um?" Gilbert dove in for another kiss as Miss Brooke came around the corner. His hand reached down to caress Anne's rear. Gilbert was rewarded with a gasp from Anne. Her eyes were a lively green as he let Anne down. Anne was too stunned to say much, but she was definitely going to have a word with him as soon as she recovered.

"You should have your powers back soon," Katherine reported. She was not going to display shock at Gilbert's manner of affection for Anne. She knew he was doing it for her benefit, trying to prove his point. "Between the two of you, you have my life story. I'll let you talk. I've had an interesting night and I need a good sleep."

"Wait, wait, Katherine!" Anne said as she attempted to stop her, but Gilbert prevented Anne.

"No Anne, wait." Gilbert insisted. "She has a mild case of hypothermia. We talked and she's sorry for taking me away like she did. She is. I can tell she's sincere." Gilbert exhaled slowly and nervously, "Tell me about Fred. He saw us disappear, didn't he? Is he completely upset—mad? What did you say?"

"No, he's rising to the challenge from what I can tell, but I think you need to talk with him, soon, Gil."

"I'll go now," Gilbert twitched his mustache and raised an eyebrow, "I have a new power, I can travel by magic. I'll go to Fred's and then I'll return Dad's horse and sleigh. I'll be back as soon as I'm done, but we're not bundling. Not anymore. We'll remove the board."

"Gilbert—that's probably not very wise, not after how you just greeted me."

"We'll just have to behave ourselves," Gilbert added, "If I can't, I'll leave, but I can't tolerate that board when I need to hold you, and Anne, I need to hold you tonight. I want to hold you, so let me, please. This new ability is really power hungry."

"Now is not the right time to be testing Marilla's limits," Anne said, thinking about their example to the twins. "Dora is. . ."

"Later, tonight," Gilbert said as he held his fingers to Anne's lips. He then vanished away.

* * *

Gilbert stood just out of Fred's point of view in the corridor. He could see Fred's feet propped up on a footstool before the fire. From what Anne had told Gilbert, Fred wanted this conversation as much as Gilbert did, and yet Gilbert understood that this conversation would set the tone for their friendship the rest of their lives. He wasn't keen on the stakes.

Finally, Gilbert stepped into the entrance and knocked on the door to announce himself.

Fred pivoted his head and looked at his old friend with new, wide eyes. He turned his head back to the fire clearly trying to compose himself. Gilbert took the chair next to Fred and leaned forward with his forearms on his knees.

"Fred. Can we talk, please?"

"Sure, Gil. What do you want to talk about?"

"I thought maybe I could tell you something."

"You can tell me anything, Gil."

"Can I?" Gilbert challenged. "If I tell you something, you're not going to tell me I'm damned to burn in hell, are you?"

Fred picked up his Holy Bible from a small side table and handed it to Gilbert. "Exodus 22:18"

"Fred, I don't need to look it up. I know what it says."

"Do you?" Fred gave a slight nod. "Humor me."

Gilbert flipped through the front of the book and found the chapter. On the page, Gilbert immediately saw the verse, or where the verse should have been. Fred had carefully crossed out, "Thou shall not suffer a witch to live."

Gilbert was puzzled and looked at Fred for an explanation.

"I don't believe you're damned, Gilbert." Fred quietly said, "Or your cousin; or your grandmother; and anyone else in your family blessed to be what you are. The Bible doesn't make sense to me anymore. It hasn't since last summer. I've been trying to fix it."

Gilbert didn't know what to say exactly. "In the Bible, witchcraft means trusting your own power over God's. We don't do that. And, you do know, everyone has a verse in this book they wish to line out. None of us deserve salvation."

"Yeah, I know. Do me a favor Gilbert?" Fred asked. "Throw it in the fire."

"What?" Gilbert said at the thought of committing sacrilege. Gilbert shot Fred a questioning glance. When he saw Fred's determined nod, Gilbert answered, "No, that's not necessary."

"Then give it to me and I'll do it," Fred implored. "It needs to be done."

"No!" Gilbert answered as he held the Holy Bible protectively in his arms, wondering about Fred's sanity. The evening was chalk full of psychological stress. "It's not that important. You're an elder, you need a good Bible and this is one. It has a concordance and proper footnotes. I have the same Bible at home. Remember? We got them when we joined at fifteen."

Fred stood at this point, shaking his head. Gilbert would not be able to change his mind. Fred removed the grate to the fireplace and added a log. The flames quickly renewed, burning hot and bright. He looked back at Gilbert who was still holding the holy book. Reaching out with his hand, Fred said. "It's my Bible, Gilbert, please give it to me."

Gilbert hesitated. He eventually relinquished Fred's property back to him. Fred kneeled and held the book before the flames. "What I'm about to do here Gilbert, it's not just about you." He looked back to check if he were watching. "There are other things happening, things you don't know about. I can't be a part of it anymore. I want to be free."

And with that, Fred pitched the black volume into the flames.

"No, Fred," Gilbert said, now on his feet. But it was too late. The thin pages ignited and burned quickly and the leather binding began to shrink. The smell was terrible, and both men started to cough. Fred's eyes teared from the smoke and then, to Gilbert's amazement, Fred laughed joyfully as he wiped his eyes with his silk handkerchief.

"Oh, I guess I know now what is meant by the 'circumcision of the heart'." He turned to Gilbert, "Off with the old, on with the new. Eh?"

Gilbert looked again into the flames. Fred's old line of thinking burned in effigy. For all its drama, the gesture broke down the wall between them and Gilbert found himself emotionally moved. Fred cared enough about the world to want to change it and stop defending its shortcomings. It was rather amazing to Gil, with all his supernatural gifts, that it was Fred that had performed the miracle. He had changed his heart. Gilbert shook Fred's hand and then pulled him into a brotherly hug. His eyes started to produce an excess of tears from the reunion.

"Fred," Gilbert breathed. "I thought our friendship was lost, forever. I have so much to tell you. About being a Blythe. About Anne and school."

"No Gilbert, it's me that needs to talk. Thank you for healing Katherine, and Diana, and Anne Cordelia," Fred choked on his suppressed cries. Their hug deepened until they both felt a bit uncomfortable.

"You forgot Robbie, your nephew. The fun started again with him," Gilbert laughed. "Talk about surprises."

"Yes, if it wasn't for us Wright's, would you have any victims at all?"

Their hug broke apart but Gilbert held onto his hand and sandwiched it to read him. "And now I can help the best friend I ever had." Gilbert added, "And I can do it honestly and not have to hide myself. You have a gallstone, Fred. I noticed it last week when we were here. I can get rid of it for you before it starts to move."

Fred's eyes widened again. "A gallstone? How do you know?"

"I'm a witch. A healer. I could sense the issue when I shook your hand. Please let me. A gallstone is an eleven in pain on a scale of one-to-ten. You'll live, but you may not want to," Gilbert pressed his hand on Fred's abdomen. "This will just take a second."

"Alright Gil," Fred believed in him. "Go on, do it. I trust you."

 **to be continued**


	18. Healing

Timeline - _Anne of Windy Poplars, The Second Year_ \- March (Anne's birthday).  
Allow me the latitude to connect this narrative to the end of chapter 11, where Anne has a cold, but officially, that chapter is about April or so.

* * *

 **Chapter 18: Healing**

John Blythe and Davy Keith's feet crunched through the thin layer of crusty snow as they walked Mr. Blythe's property line. Mr. Blythe appreciated the time Davy gave to him as they inspected the fields for another year of farming. John was looking for clues. Were there any problems with the land he hadn't noticed before? Should the crops be rotated this year? Should they spread manure over any areas? A successful farmer had to plan for the next season and he explained to Davy his thoughts as they wandered. "You can't ever do too much planning and preparing in my book, Davy." Mr. Blythe put his hands in his pockets and smelled the fresh air. "The more you plan, the more time you save. And time is money."

Davy nodded to indicate he had heard him but was unable to contribute a single thought for or against it. He sort of wished he'd gone with Milty Boulter that afternoon, his cousin Mildred was in town for the weekend and Milty had indicated Mildred rather liked him. But Davy remembered his promise to Gilbert. He did want to learn to farm and that meant periodically visiting with Gilbert's father.

"As you can imagine irrigation is a problem for me," Mr. Blythe said as he pointed to a field where he alternated crops of flax and hay. Davy hadn't bothered to imagine anything at all when they got to the field, but he continued to listen. "The closest stream is along this row of volunteer trees, dry most the time except during a 'cane or some other deluge."

Davy scanned the uneven landscape and saw the problem. "How do you get water to this field? Do you use a windmill?"

"Prayer mostly," John informed him. "Farmers are a praying lot. Some seasons I make a killing from this field and other years it's my ruin. That's why I plant a variety of crops and keep cattle. Diversification has saved this farm more than once. The apple orchard is in the hilliest part, protects the land from erosion. Those hills have some very good topsoil. And over here is my worst land," Mr. Blythe indicated the potato field next to the house and barns. "Potatoes don't need much to flourish. I understand you've managed your own potato field at Green Gables?"

Mr. Blythe and Davy walked to the potato field in question.

"Potato plot!" Davy corrected, "Marilla gave all of us our own plot to manage. Dora plants garden herbs, and Anne plants flowers. I do potatoes because I heard they were the easiest to grow. I didn't want to work all day and get nothing from it."

John Blythe laughed. "Believe it or not, you already think like a farmer. Always looking for a shortcut."

Davy grinned to hear himself praised for his efficiency rather than be scolded for being lazy.

"This sure is a lot bigger than my plot at home."

"I'm sure that's true, but don't worry, Davy. I've also hired a man to help, his name is Mr. Marin. He's also very good with livestock. That was Gilbert's forté and where I'll miss him the most. You'll see Mr. Marin and his daughter quite a bit this summer. Miss Marin helps Mother around the house. My wife hasn't been feeling well lately. But, there's something you should know that about Miss Marin. She's black. Her mother was a Negress from the Caribbean. Mr. Marin himself is white, just so you know."

"I've never seen a colored," Davy said, a tad surprised, not that it mattered much to him.

"That's why I'm telling you, so you don't stare at her or make her feel uncomfortable," Mr. Blythe put a hand on his shoulder. "Everyone is welcomed in my home, including coloreds. Miss Marin's about your age and probably won't appreciate a smart looking boy such as yourself staring at her because she's dark complected."

"I promised, I won't stare." Davy rolled his eyes with much "Geez" animation. He had never seen any girl worth staring at, unless she was doing something strange, like the time Barbara Shaw rolled back her eyes until the only the whites showed.

"Well, just want to be sure," John pointed Davy in the direction of the house. "Let's go inside for some tea. I believe those ladies attempted a pie today. We can finish by ordering supplies and seed."

* * *

Gilbert Blythe, a second-year medical student at Kingsport Medical College, returned to his dormitory room with a stack of periodicals. The second-year students were required to write papers for publication in the school's medical journal. It was a tradition. Everyone in Gilbert's class expected the assignment at the start of the spring term, so there was no surprise from the class when the requirement was made. Gilbert received a bit of a shock, after already starting his own topical research in anticipation. Most students were allowed to pick topics within their specialty fields; Gilbert was pulled aside by the Dean and assigned his topic— _Diagnosing_. The Dean had told Gilbert that he seemed to have a remarkable talent for making successful diagnoses and his method must be shared with the medical community at large.

Eugene laughed when Gilbert confided his predicament.

It became the assignment from hell. Gilbert had little experience in making diagnoses the normal way and now he'd have to learn how _and_ offer insights that would revolutionize the world. Gilbert toyed with the idea of just writing his paper on his magic; but, obviously, he couldn't do that. He would have to take a scientific approach, build a thesis and shore it up with proofs. Outlines were now due. He had all evening to get his done and he hoped that the pressure of meeting the deadline would somehow infuse him with inspiration. Wasn't that the gift of procrastination? His jutted jaw hinted to his anxiety, as did the baritone sighs that would slip out from time to time.

Gilbert lit his desk lamp, perhaps prematurely, but in preparation for a long night. It was still relatively early in the evening, but the windows to their dormitory room were on the east side behind the windbreak of a few poplars, and it did get dusky fast in the winter. Gilbert had mentioned to Anne how dark their room got. Anne's Christmas present to Gilbert was a pair of fancy desk lamps, ones that sported an embellishment of ivy and garlands carefully etched into the metal oil reservoir. They were made to last a lifetime and the light it gave was soft and non-glaring. He always felt that Anne was studying with him when the oil burned, for he kept one on his desk and Anne kept the other on hers. A reminder that one day, they would sit together in their own parlor, never to be separated again.

Eugene came in with an apple in his mouth and a stack of mail. He dropped a letter from John Blythe on Gilbert's desk. Gilbert tore open the correspondence. Eugene could tell from Gilbert's expression the news was relatively good. Unlike the telegram a few weeks ago that had caused Gilbert almost fall to his knees with shock.

"How's your Mom?" Eugene asked between bites of fruit. Eugene sat in his hardback chair and watched Gilbert absentmindedly twirl the end of his mustache as he read through his father's message.

"The colored servant girl they hired is helping quite a bit," Gilbert said as he folded the correspondence. "She makes 'a mean pie', Dad writes. But I'm relieved she's there. Dad also says Mom still gets dizzy from time to time."

Eugene heard the underpinnings of concern. "It's normal, Gilbert, you know that. Dizziness and vertigo are symptoms of the onset of barrenness."

"Yeah," Gilbert grimaced, not really wishing to discuss his mother's gynecological health. "Gene, you can understand why I might not want to discuss this much. She's my mother."

"Which is why I wish you had let me go there when the news came. I would have been happy to, you know Spence' is a quack."

"He's not that bad, it's just women's health that he's . . ."

"Horrible!" Gene interrupted. "Misdiagnosing such as he did. I have half a mind to plaster his office with some of my publications. But still..." Eugene bit into his apple again and chuckled through the mouthful. Gilbert rolled his eyes knowing what Gene was going to say, "There was a certain amount of comedy in watching your panic when you read that your Mom had lost _a baby_. I thought, 'Wow! You really do come from magical stock, don't you?'."

Gilbert hazel eyes looked rather defiant to his jests. "Gene, it's not funny. Mom lied about her age to Dr. Spencer. She was never pregnant." Gilbert folded the letter and put it in his desk drawer, adding, "By the time I saw her, she'd stopped hemorrhaging. I was able to help her a little bit, with the pain, but the healing had already begun. And I burned off the last of that ability Katherine gave me in the process."

"I'm sorry, Gil," Eugene replied. His pale blue eyes blinked more thoughtfully now. "You're right, I shouldn't laugh, but it really was quite the moment to witness when you briefly thought your mother had lost a baby. You were amazed, surprised, worried, and then angry all at once."

"Well, I'm glad to keep you entertained."

"How could you not? Your life is so much more entertaining than mine, or haven't you noticed? But now that you're back to your basics of magic, I guess this means I'll be watching your dormant body again before supper so you can spook Anne?"

"You know," Gilbert set his fountain pen aside from his notebook, taking a necessary break from writing. "Now that you mention it, I haven't seen Anne for a little while. It's just as well though, Anne and I haven't exactly been on our best behaviors when together." The flash of his eyes and quick grin relayed to Eugene enough detail. Gilbert felt he was in a new stage of their relationship, one that may or may not end in premarital intimacy, but they were definitely skating on thin ice.

"Gilbert, you do like making things hard on yourself," Eugene toss the core into the trash bin and didn't miss. He allowed himself a self-congratulatory cheer. Gilbert meanwhile recovered from Eugene's unfortunate pun. "When you come back from your visits with Anne, you seem to have more energy than when you left."

"You think Anne gives me energy?"

"Let's just say she tends to wake you up a bit."

Gilbert thought back to the last time he was in her tower room with her, and how they had snuggled down in the 'wild-goose' quilt together, sharing not-so-gentle kisses and roaming hands. He always left before things got too serious, but the definition of 'serious' was ever-changing now. "No, no more spooking until later on. I told her it was too cold to meet in the cemetery and I'd come when I can at night. To be honest, I'm feeling a bit—I dunno. Stretched I guess. My powers don't feel right, but it could be the stress of this." Gilbert pointed to his desk and his tower of papers to read and digest.

"Well, you do have a lot of work to do there, but I wonder?" Eugene crossed his arms and leaned back into the lumbar of his chair. Shaking his head, he discounted himself. "No, I'm just too suspicious of a fellow."

"What?" Gilbert lifted his eyes up from the periodical he was reading.

"I just wondered if the Dean might be on to you," Eugene's eyes showed a margin of concern. "Like he's trying to corner you. He literally put your back up against the wall to find out how you do what you do, Dr. Diagnosis."

"I hardly think the Dean is on a witch hunt. His reasons seem noble enough. He doesn't know what I do is innate and can't be taught. Think of it, if all doctors could read a patient like I can, it would save time and lives." Gilbert wadded up his scratch notes and tossed it his way, hitting Eugene squarely on the head. "That's what comes from marrying a Pringle, you know. Not everyone has a hidden agenda."

"True, but anyone from Summerside tends to do that for me. Dean Tomgallon is no exception."

* * *

"Kershoo," Anne sneezed yet again, louder and harder than the two times before. Her sneeze was strong enough that the pretty china and crystal on the table quaked in the aftermath. "Oh Gosh, I'm sorry," Anne said as a shade of embarrassment overcame her complexion. Then, she once again opened her mouth to thunder out another explosive sneeze, "Kershoo!"

Anne regretted that she felt so rotten. The ladies before her, Aunt Kate (Mrs. Captain Amasa MacComber) and Aunt Chatty (Mrs. Lincoln MacLean) had brought out their best china and stemware to give her birthday meal a pretty service. Rebecca Dew had fixed Anne's favorite foods. Chicken with dumplings for dinner and sponge cake with Marilla's plum preserves for dessert.

Anne pushed her food around with her fork. It did look good, but her stuffed up nose killed her appetite. Instead, Anne delivered news from Green Gables. Marilla had received quite a shock when Ralph Andrews showed up to asked Marilla's permission to marry Dora.

"Now, where was I?" She had stopped her speech to sneeze violently once more.

Aunt Chatty tapped her arm and said, "You were telling us about Dora, Anne. Is she still mad with Marilla?"

"Marilla thinks so," Anne sniffled into her hankie. "I really can't tell from Dora's letter if she's mad or not, but they've struck a deal and it's remarkably simple. . . Kershoo!"

Rebecca Dew finished serving and plopped down in her chair next to Anne. She gave Anne her much cleaner handkerchief to use; seeing as Anne needed to pick her hankie apart for a clean spot to blow in.

"Thank you, Rebecca Dew!" Anne blew so hard she made unladylike honking sounds.

"What was the agreement between Dora and Marilla then?" Aunt Chatty begged her to continue the romantic plight of young lovers.

Anne gave a slight laugh because it was a unique solution, frightfully wicked, but also drove in the point Marilla had made to Dora when she said 'no', that marriage was work and _that_ sort of work could wait a few years. "Marilla asked me why I was never boy crazy, and I told Marilla I might have been if I hadn't changed thousands and thousands of diapers before becoming her ward. So Marilla told Dora that she would sign permission after Dora changed two thousand dirty diapers."

"What?" Rebecca Dew spluttered and put down her teacup, shaking her head as if there was cotton between her ears and she had misheard. "Two thousand dirty diapers? And you think that will work? What's to keep her from lying?"

Anne wriggled her nose; attempting to keep the sneeze inside of her. "Oh, Dora _won't_. She's determined to prove to Marilla she can really do it and is not afraid. Dora's always played by the rules. . . Kershoo! . . Oh, I wish I could get over this cold!"

"You _have_ had that cold a might long time," Rebecca Dew said as she poured more hot tea into Anne's cup. The aunts moved into the parlor, but Rebecca Dew urged Anne to stay in her chair. "Drink your tea, Anne." She ran her hand over Anne's flushed face. "You're feverish too, perhaps it's time for the Doc. Shall I call for him?"

Anne smiled at Rebecca Dew's motherly concern. The only doctor Anne wanted to see was Gilbert, for his cure was surefire. He couldn't travel to her magically anymore. If he bi-located, he could give her great sympathy, but he wouldn't be able to heal her, not with his dormant body so far away. Anne wouldn't contact him over a cold, as bad and persistent as it was. He had too much on his plate at school to make the ferry trip over to Summerside.

"No, I don't think so. I think I just need some rest. The meal looked wonderful, I'm sorry I'm not hungry for it."

"That's quite alright. You just finish your tea, and we'll see if That Cat will deign himself to eat your leftovers."

Rebecca Dew left Anne in the kitchen and ascended the stairs to Anne's tower room and came back down a few minutes later. "I stoked your stove and I put a couple of warming bricks under your covers. You go on upstairs and crawl underneath that heavy quilt and rest while those bricks are still hot."

Anne thanked Rebecca Dew for her concern and asked her to tell the others goodnight. Anne would indeed crawl under that cover, but she meant to mark papers the rest of the night and she hoped for Gilbert to come and spook her. Somewhere in the middle of grading geometry papers and wishing for her fiancé to show up, Anne fell asleep and was dead to the world.

* * *

She didn't feel any better the next morning. Her eyes were thick with sand and Rebecca Dew had to coax Anne out of bed and downstairs for breakfast. Anne found her typical meal of plain porridge and coffee unappetizing. Her cough was loud and harsh. Although Rebecca Dew, Aunt Kate and Aunt Chatty had advised Anne to stay home and let Miss Katherine Brooke be principal, Anne insisted on going.

"My literature class is in the middle of Great Expectations right now," Anne managed to say between dry hacks that sounded painful, "And I surely wouldn't want to disappoint them." Uncharacteristically, Anne was not able to rattle off her sentence in a single breath. She had a slight wheeze in her speech.

"You should not go to work today," Rebecca Dew wisely advised. "That cough sounds terrible! You need Dr. Hart and some Kentucky whiskey instead." Rebecca was normally a temperance woman; however, she strongly believed in the medicinal powers of wine and liquor. No strange herbs for her in her tea. The hard stuff did a better job of expelling phlegm.

"I'll be fine," Anne refused, and she picked up some toast and spread apple butter on top of the golden wedge. "See, I'm eating. Happy?"

The three other ladies looked at each other. Aunt Kate's thin, gray face frowned her disapproval and Aunt Chatty looked as if she were about to cry in protest. Rebecca Dew put her hands on her hips, her short arms making queer triangles along her round body. "You're crazy to go to school, but what do I know? I'm not a B.A.!"

* * *

"What happened, Gilbert?" Eugene asked as the two medical students returned to their shared room. "You asked about twenty questions to get a diagnosis. Are you taking this writing assignment too seriously now?"

Gilbert sat down on his bed in contemplation. When he shook his patient's hand, he couldn't see what ailed her. Clearly, she was sick. She couldn't stand without fainting. His questioning led him to perform a cardiac assessment. He quickly obtained her permission to place his stethoscope on her chest. The murmur he heard told him she needed an operation, and then his powers confirm it. It was the type of problem that would have cried out to him normally, just by him touching her hand, but now, his abilities felt spotty and unpredictable.

"I dunno what's going on," He looked at his hands in wonder. Other than the fact they were not wielding his normal, supernatural ability, they looked normal and capable. "It is upsetting. My magic works and then it doesn't."

"Think Gilbert!" Eugene said. "What does this mean? When your powers fade? Just off the top of your head." Frustrated with Gilbert's blank stare Eugene pounded his desk. "Guess then."

"Well, I would guess that something might be wrong with Anne," Gilbert felt alarmed as he thought through his statement. _Something was wrong with Anne._ Gilbert was certain now. "Helen said her powers were slipping before she lost hers, and she lost her powers because the person she loved most had died." Gilbert exhaled sharply and his eyes fell to the lamp Anne had given him, he briefly reflected on how lonely it looked without its pair. Gilbert's gaze then pivoted back to Eugene. "Gene, I want to try and bi-locate to Anne. Will you watch my dormant body?"

"Sure, go find out what's happening."

Gene always needed a moment to recover whenever Gilbert mentioned Helen. He was glad Gilbert hadn't witnessed his facial reaction. He had felt himself blush a thousand shades of pink. Eugene felt a fool for his behavior on the beach last summer. But then, admitting to Helen that he loved her felt right at the time. He supposed that the circumstances of that conversation aided his folly.

Eugene glanced over at Gilbert sitting quietly, his active conscious somewhere else in Summerside. Gilbert's unblinking eyes frosted over gray from lack of focus. It was generally a creepy look and made slightly more disturbing by the curly ends of his mustache. Eugene passed his hand over Gilbert's face and then poked his shoulder, "Gil, just so you know, I am resisting the temptation to chop off your mustache tails. The longer you're gone, the bigger the risk to your facial hair."

Suddenly, Gilbert stood and went for his satchel, perfectly back to himself, if you ignored the fact he moved with a fire under him. Eugene almost fell back from the surprise but found his balance in an unexpected gift of agility.

"Anne's really sick," Gilbert said, "I couldn't form a second body, but I saw enough as a projection to see that Anne needs me." Gilbert went to his desk and found his stash of cash and put it in his wallet. He then found his toiletries and packed them unceremoniously in his luggage case along with a nightshirt.

"You're not leaving, are you?" Eugene admonished. "You've got to turn your outline with Dean Tomgallon and you have the cadaver today for your surgical practical." Eugene tried to unpack his satchel as Gilbert tried to add to it. "Gil, Summerside has doctors, decent ones! You've got work to do here. She'll be fine."

"It's Anne!" Gilbert moaned, "I think she has pneumonia, Gene! All I know for sure is, I don't have a future without her. I've got to go. I can heal her. It's a respiratory issue—it's my strength!"

"Fine! You'll need a place to board," Eugene dug out his letterhead and began scribbling, "Stop by my mother-in-law's, Mrs. Thomas Pringle. She has room to take you." Eugene passed Gilbert his brief letter which would give him an introduction and welcome at a stranger's home should he need it.

Gilbert put on his winter coat and felt for his wallet in the inside pocket, he doubted his cash would cover everything and there as no time to stop at a bank and make a withdrawal. "Can you loan me fare for the _Kaleidoscope_? I think she boards in an hour for Summerside if I remember her schedule correctly."

Eugene passed over his stash of bills, "It's not enough to get you back though."

"That's all right," Gilbert answered, "I'll worry about it later. I need to go to Anne, now."

* * *

Anne Shirley managed herself back to her room at Windy Poplars with Rebecca Dew's help. She had been sent home by cab. Miss Brooke had ordered it and dismissed her classes the rest of the day.

Rebecca Dew assisted Anne out of her constricting dress and undergarments. Without her corset, Anne's lungs expanded to their full capacity. But the additional air she drew only made her cough rougher. Rebecca put Anne to bed and went downstairs to inform the aunts that she would call on Dr. Hart.

Anne slipped in and out of consciousness as she heard a variety of voices pace around her bed. None of those voices were Gilbert's. One voice explained to her that she was slipping a warming brick under the cover. Later, a male voice asked her to inhale and exhale as he pressed a stethoscope to her back. She understood the man was Dr. Hart.

"Anne's case is quite advanced," Dr. Hart shook his head. It hurt to see such a young woman enter into her final hours. "But I've seen this before, and I'm afraid my prognosis isn't encouraging. You should call for family, there's still some time for them to get here."

* * *

Mrs. Dennis intercepted Katherine Brooke when she returned home from teaching later on that same day. The landlady was a bit annoyed, but then she was always cross when interrupted from her baking. Mrs. Dennis's apron had flour stains on it and there was a note of kitchen disaster permeating the air.

"Yous has company," Mrs. Dennis said quickly. "It's your lady friend from Carmody, the dressmaker. I went ahead and sent her up to your room. I figures that is what you'd want."

"Yes, of course," Katherine flushed. "Thank you, Mrs. Dennis."

Katherine knocked on her bedroom door before opening it. On her bed, Helen Blythe rested comfortably on her back over the yellow afghan. She turned her head and flashed a smile to Katherine before swinging her legs around to stand. Katherine heard the door click shut.

"There you are!" She turned to the bed and gestured, "I hope you don't mind. I felt poorly and wanted to rest before it got worse."

Part of Katherine just wanted to snuggle up next to Helen and say, "Thank God you're here. It's been a terrible day at school. . . " A couple of weeks ago she might have, but Katherine knew it unwise for their relationship to continue. Katherine sat down on her bed and looked upon Helen, wishing she had come into her life just a tiny bit sooner. Maybe, just maybe then, Helen wouldn't be tied to Charles Sloane. She breathed deeply, plucking up her resolve to stay logical and unemotional about her decision to stay away from the engaged woman. "Helen, we've talked about _this_. It doesn't matter what we feel for each other, you'll be married soon, to a man no less. Seeing you on my bed . . ." Katherine's voice trailed off and she failed at her mission to remain aloof.

"Honestly, Kate, I came here today to deliver your new dress. Nothing more," Helen sat down next to her and held Katherine's trembling hand. "I got tired of waiting for you and decided you wouldn't mind if I laid down. Especially if I felt a tad headachy, which I did." She rubbed Katherine's hand. "I miss you, you know. How could I not? My powers are coming back because of you. Because you love me so much."

Katherine quaked under this truth and it was a heartbeat before she could look at up. Her amber eyes held kinder, blue ones. Katherine did love Helen but needed to think through what it meant. Was she less of a woman because of her attraction to other women? She sat frozen next to her, gazing straight into Helen's soul, longing to be free of her fears. Helen was bold as brass as she touched the side of Katherine's face and gently kissed her soft lips.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I..I can't," Katherine almost wiped away the kiss. "It's not right, this will lead to no good."

"Then consider it my thank-you," Helen almost cried. "Even if I can only see the past now, it's so much better than nothing! Who knew a leech could fix my magic? I would have never thought it possible."

Katherine stood up from her bed and turned her eyes to her closet, "Is my dress in there?"

"Yes, I hung it up for you. Why don't you bring it out, I'll check the fit, one last time."

She opened her armoire revealing her new, velvet, red dress. Helen had accented the front panel with so much embroidery it looked to be cut from a tapestry. Katherine had never owned anything so fine and grand. The vividness of the gown paralyzed her. Everyone would see her in it. Everyone one would know she was different!

"I don't know if I'm ready to take this out of the closet," Katherine said as she touched the lushes edges. "It's so bright. So alive! I'd hardly know myself."

Helen wasn't as impressed with her handiwork as Katherine was. To her, it was just another dress. It represented a few paid bills. Helen went to the closet and took it out and thrust it into Katherine's hands, "Well, I think you're going to wear it well. And I can't wait to see it on you."

* * *

In the parlor, Rebecca Dew and Aunt Kate discussed the situation as Aunt Chatty remained upstairs, reading psalms to a sleeping Anne. They decided to telegram her betrothed, Mr. Blythe, and her guardian, Miss Cuthbert. Rebecca was putting her hat on to run over to the telegraph office when someone knocked on the side door for entry.

"Oh, not now!" Rebecca Dew looked down the hallway to where the knock came. The last thing they needed was a caller. "Suppose I leave through the front?"

"It could be Dr. Hart coming back," Aunt Kate suggested. "Let's see who it is."

The knocker grew impatient for an answer. Rebecca Dew opened the door to the presence of a handsome man with a dark, mustache above a prominent chin. In his one hand was his satchel and in his other hand was a medical bag.

"Excuse me," he said. He set down his bag and tipped his hat to Rebecca Dew. "I'm looking for Miss Anne Shirley. I am Mr. Gilbert Blythe. Anne's fiancé and a medical student at Kingsport Medical College. I know Anne's very sick. Don't ask me how, but I do. We are very in love with each other. May I please come in and see her? I know I can help."

* * *

"Anne?"

Rebecca Dew entered the tower room first where Dr. Hart had left Anne propped up with pillows. Behind Rebecca Dew, Gilbert Blythe stood silently, listening carefully at Anne's ragged breathing. Behind him was Aunt Kate. Aunt Chatty rose from her chair where she had been reading from the Bible in acknowledgment of the three.

Gilbert touched Rebecca Dew's shoulder as he stepped around the woman that bore a slight resemblance to a beefsteak tomato. He was no longer willing to wait to be by Anne's side.

"Anne?" Gilbert said softly as he hoisted himself up to sit next to her on the elevated bed.

Anne's eyes softly open and she smiled to see him. Her light breathing quickened from the excitement in knowing he was there at last.

He brushed her forehead confirming the state of her fever.

"Anne, let me listen to your lungs? I know Dr. Hart was here, but I want to check you myself."

Gilbert leaned Anne forward and put his ear directly over Anne's left lung, checking the inhale and exhale of her lower, middle and upper lobes. He heard no crackle, just the bronchial swish of air that had nowhere to go. Gilbert's could feel his magic start to build up as he continued his respiratory assessment on her right lung. There he heard a little crackle in her exhale. Her right lung was doing all the work, but soon, it would be solid too. Gilbert held Anne's hand and his magic told him what he heard was correct. Anne's life was perilously close to ending. He felt as if he might explode with an outburst of his healing powers. He needed to heal her.

Gilbert turned and saw three sets of eyes, big and bright watching him. Gilbert cast his eyes on Anne's desk. Thinking. He saw her lamp burning low. She had a mountain of papers stacked up next to it, waiting for her to mark them.

"Ladies?" Gilbert addressed the three, "Would you be so kind as to call on Miss Katherine Brooke? She needs to get Anne's school things." He softly touched Anne's hairline, shifting some fine threads of red behind her ear. "And I need to talk with Anne, alone, please."

"Rebecca—you must leave at once before it gets any later," Aunt Kate declared. "Chatty, let's go. Anne is obviously in the care of someone that loves her. He knew she was sick all the way across the Northumberland Straight because of their attachment. . ."

"Oh, it's just so romantic, so sad, but so romantic too . . ." Gilbert heard Aunt Chatty say as he fished out his medical scissors. He set those very, sharp scissors aside and slipped off his dirty shoes. He crawled into bed next to Anne and moved her into his lap, so she could sit up vertically. He would be her support. Dr. Hart had tried to improve her breathing also by forcing her to rest with an elevation against her, but pillows were soft and giving, and Anne slipped down.

He turned Anne slightly to her left and cut an opening down the center back of her light-green nightdress. With his left hand, he reached inside and placed his palm under the fullness of her breast. Gilbert's right hand exerted mild pressure on the back of that same lung.

Gilbert didn't even have to try to conjure his powers. They were there, impatient to be used. He could feel Anne's muscles rejoice as the water magically disappeared from her lungs. "Gil, thank you!" Anne sighed. She put her own hand over his, feeling his fingers under the flannel of her gown. "I feel so dizzy now." She leaned back against him breathing deeply and he kissed the crown of her head.

"I told you I would know if your health was at risk," Gilbert moved his hands to capture her right lung. He felt a tear of relief fall from his eye as joy replaced worry. He knew how close she had come to dying. "I'm just sorry I didn't realize sooner."

"How close was I?" Anne asked. "I could hear Dr. Hart tell Rebecca Dew my prognosis did not look good."

"You were never going to die," Gilbert said in mock shock. "Don't you know yet, I'm not going to let that happen. I love you way too much."

Anne drew in another deep breath and placed her arms over his. She wanted to say something in return, but instead, Anne closed her eyes and felt at peace. Gilbert laid back and covered their bodies with the quilt. He refused to relinquish her from his embrace.

 **to be continued**


	19. Tomgallon

Timeline - _Anne of Windy Poplars, The Second Year_ \- March (Anne's birthday).  
Allow me the latitude to connect this narrative to the of chapter 11, where Anne has a cold, but officially, that chapter is about April or so.

* * *

 **Chapter 19: Tomgallon**

In the dungeon of Old Main-the largest and most derelict of buildings on campus—existed a canteen where medical students gathered for second-day bakery items and jolts of Caribbean coffee and English teas. Eugene Felder and Gilbert Blythe usually could be found there promptly after lecture; they collaborated their notes as they snacked. Eugene would purchase the tea and Gilbert would use his pocket knife and cut up an apple. Sometimes others would join them, especially those that didn't care for the smell of cigar smoke, their booth was always non-smoking; however, today was different. Gilbert had hastily left for Summerside to heal Anne and Eugene was left to his own devices.

Eugene entered the cue for coffee and rolls. A few fellow medical students noticed that Gilbert wasn't with him and questioned Eugene over Dr. Diagnosis' whereabouts. Eugene just gave them a shrug and said, "Family matter." Which was true enough. Anne Shirley was his family: Anne Shirley was his life when it came down to it. Eugene felt a tad guilty for his evasive answer. The fact that Anne and Gilbert were not married was just too linear of an idea. Time existed in a circle and sometimes it was possible to acknowledge the things of the future for the present. Saying Anne was anything less than family for Gilbert would have been more dishonest.

Eugene set his piping hot coffee aside and crammed the end of a Bismark into his mouth as he searched his pockets for coins. He had forgotten that he had handed over to Gilbert his cash for the ferry ticket to Summerside. In the past, Eugene flirted with the employees to make up for a few slight shortages in payment. Usually, his flattery was enough for the forgotten cafeteria worker to bend the rules. This one though was a real challenge. You could tell just by looking at her. Her aura reeked of unpleasantness and unspoken pains. She looked at his angular physique and balding head with a slight sneer, wondering if he was able to fork over the pennies. Eugene was about to give up when he heard another man say, "How much is it Mrs. Stempson?"

He pivoted his neck to see his benefactor. Surprise overtook him and his eyebrows went to the sky as his teeth snapped off his bite. The doughnut fell from his mouth and into his hand. It was no other than Dean Tomgallon paying his balance. _How embarrassing!_ The dean and the clerk seemed to know each other well enough as the exchange was made. Mrs. Stempson pressed a few buttons on the cash register's drawer ejected forcefully. The change clanked as she counted into his fat fingers.

"Sir, thank you!" Eugene uncomfortably swallowed the morsel lodged in his throat. "I do hope you'll let me repay you."

"Mr. Felder, your scholarship brings this school a lot of attention. You were published in the London Medical Journal and now you're translated to German for the Kaiser's medical staff. That is well done! Consider the Berliner a fair trade!" Tomgallon steered an elated Eugene off to the side and out of the crush of students. Then the matron called Eugene back for his cup of coffee. Like a forgetful child, Eugene retrieved his coffee. The dean chuckled and waited for his return.

"Mr. Felder—I'm really glad I found you today. I've been reviewing your application for early graduation and have a few questions. I don't suppose you could stop by my office this afternoon?"

"Yes—I think that's possible. Would three be too late?"

"Let me think," He noticed that Eugene was struggling with the tasks of walking, holding his roll and a cup of coffee. He pointed his student to a booth. "Let's sit a second, before you spill on yourself."

Eugene felt his face grow hot pink. Was he such a klutz that even the dean knew?

Taking a chance Eugene ventured a conclusion for the meeting, "I'm glad that my application has met your approval."

The dean squeezed into the other side of the booth. Dean Tomgallon was a fat man, no stranger to a doughnut himself. His protruding belly demanded the table be pushed forward and into Eugene. For a brief moment, Eugene thought him a tropical, bald version of Father Christmas. Tomgallon noticed Eugene staring at his middle. He patted his stomach and said, "Just wait twenty-five years. The wife will do this to you too if you're lucky."

At the word 'wife', Eugene was instantly flooded with memories of his dear deceased spouse, Victoria. Had he really been so young once to think death would never touch him? He sweetly embraced the sour memory of holding her as she passed away. Their newborn daughter also next to them, dying. The moment paralyzed him into perpetual action. Never again would a man suffer this loss, not if he could help it. His marriage had only been a year of his life, but it had changed him forever. _Wife._ Could he really do that again?

And then Eugene's thoughts diverted to Helen Blythe and how they easily they got along. Was it all right to wish for more? Probably not since she was engaged.

"Mr. Felder?" Eugene snapped out of his reverie. Dean Tomgallon was digging in his waistcoat for a cigar. "Would you like one?"

"Sir? Forgive me, but I thought it was well-known that I am a widower. It was the circumstances of her passing that called me to medicine." He declined the Cuban cigar being shoved in his direction.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I did know that."

Dean Tomgallon looked around trying to find something else to bring up. Finding nothing, he returned his small, black eyes back to Eugene's. "Getting back to your application—I think the answer will be yes, but there are a few details that I need to settle with the board-mostly your credentials from Johns Hopkins. Three then? Could I persuade you to come sooner, at two?"

Eugene frowned as he set his cup down. Swallowing to speak once again, "No, I'm so sorry, sir. I'm auditing geriatrics today. I'm taking notes for a friend, Mr. Gilbert Blythe."

"Oh, yes. I heard that Mr. Blythe made a sudden run over to Summerside. He dropped something off at my office before leaving. You room with him, correct? Do you know what happened?"

"It's something to do with his fiancée. She's not well. I am sure he means to return as soon as he can." Eugene apologized profusely on Gilbert's behalf. He had already spoken to a few of their professors about his absence. Most of them were not very understanding.

Dean Tomgallon gave a hearty, encouraging laugh. "Trust me! Mr. Blythe is not in trouble. You wouldn't know it to look at me, but I'm a big fan of romance, but when he comes back, have him stop by my office. I will help him smooth over assignments with the professors that are less inclined to believe in the _magical_ power of love."

Eugene tried to keep his jaw from dropping at the dean's modifier. He hadn't been suspecting such blatant subtext from the dean and did not have his poker face at the ready. All thoughts of early graduation were discarded as Eugene suspected slyness afoot. He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose to further obscure any revelations that might be seen in his eyes.

"That's an interesting turn of phrase from an academic."

"Oh—perhaps you're right. I ask, what is a man without the love of a woman? I'm a family man first and I can't fault Mr. Blythe for going to his li'l lady. It's God's way. It's _magical_ , don't you think? Keeps us all rather connected. Love that is."

Eugene tried to not challenge the dean on the subject of God's way. Eugene regarded himself as a man of science; not myths. His disagreeing countenance cut through the tobacco haze the dean puffed.

"Don't you believe in God, Mr. Felder?"

Normally, religion was a topic Eugene avoided. He didn't fault others for having faith. In fact, sometimes he wished he could resign himself to have it too. He framed his thoughts to words, "I appreciate religion and those that are religious, but I find I do not trust in God. Not after He ignored my prayers to save my wife and newborn daughter. If there is a God, He is callous and cruel."

His statements were as daggers to the Dean Tomgallon's heart, but he didn't hold Eugene's comments against him, as astonishing his opinions were.

"Well, I believe in the supernatural, Mr. Felder. I've seen too many miracles in my life _not_ to believe."

Dean Tomgallon rose from his seat, pushing the table even closer to Eugene to make room for his aforementioned girth. His suspenders did a spectacular job of holding his pants up as he twisted and turned to stand. Eugene's coffee sloshed in its cup, remixing the cream and sugar liberally added. Before leaving, Dean Tomgallon leaned into Eugene to say, "I thought perhaps _you've_ seen more than your share of magic too, so you surprised me. You _really_ surprised me, Mr. Felder."

Eugene looked at Dean Tomgallon as blankly as possible, "Sir?"

The dean laughed again and placed his chubby hand but a strong hand on Eugene's shoulder. "Fine! We'll do this your way. I'll see you later."

Eugene politely nodded. "At three." He drunk from his cup as the Dean strolled away but found he could no longer swallow.

* * *

Gilbert resisted the urge to stroke Anne's shoulder when she positioned her head over his thumping heart. The picture he woke to was a pleasant way to come out of bi-location. Anne was nestled against him; trusting him; watching his dormant body in her slumber. He had just feigned his departure from Windy Poplars with his second body. He had just convinced Rebecca Dew and the widows that Anne was on the mend. He had also urged them to let Anne sleep the rest of the night and not disturb her. Briefly, Gilbert wondered if in his second body he had the gift of mesmerizing people as those three ladies bought into his suggestions without question.

Now he and Anne were alone and holding on to one another without fear of scrutiny. They rested in harmony with none of the accidental notes of discord their impropriety should be striking. Shouldn't they be nervous, or excited, perhaps aroused? Gilbert's father, in one of their awkward talks, advised sex and intimacy were two different things, and that sex was the easier of the two. Mr. Blythe thought they had the intimate part down already. Gilbert couldn't quite grasp his father's meaning until then, as he held her so contentedly.

Gilbert marveled knowing that they had already achieved such a close connection. Her body was completely slack against his and grew more and more vulnerable as her sleep deepened. His feelings for Anne matured and grew as she slept. He wasn't sure how it was possible he could be more in love with Anne at the end of the day than he was at the front of it. But he was. They were perfect together! So why be apart?

Lately, Gilbert had been questioning his efforts to become a physician. How did it make sense to learn everything he had to when he could rely on his magic? Why were they waiting for a graduation that wouldn't matter? Wouldn't it be nice to just go off and elope?

He sighed and stroked her shoulder anyway.

Gilbert knew the game he played was wicked, pitting his heart against his mind. He knew the reasons for his study: He knew that magic was not reliable. He still wanted to be a master of healing and didn't care what method he used; modern or ancient. After review, he once again determined his decisions were sound and their troth-plight would have to continue. He must find glory in the wait. Joy would come from it.

A short time later a huge, gray cat sprung up onto Anne's bed. The cat glared at him, perhaps suggesting Gilbert shouldn't be there. Gilbert searched his memory for the cat's name. Dusty Miller then gave him a warning hiss as he curled into a corner. Gilbert couldn't remember the last time a cat hissed at him, not since he had gotten his powers back anyway. He supposed this cat had never seen a man before in a house full of ladies.

Another half hour passed and Gilbert fidgeted with Anne's weight on him. Not that she was heavy, she wasn't, but his limbs were falling asleep. He strove off his natural instinct to move. After a few more minutes he decided he just had to anyway. He kissed once more the top of her crown, inhaled her scent, and then slid out from under her, moving a few pillows to where he had been. If Anne woke when they separated, it was only for a second, for soon she was pulling the cover over her delicate frame.

Gilbert needed Katherine Brooke to show up so she could help him get back to Kingsport. He wondered what the delay was, Rebecca Dew had returned an hour ago from Katherine's boarding house. He thought about bi-locating back to his dorm room to study, but he didn't want to leave his body vulnerable for so long with the possibility of Katherine showing up at any moment.

Instead, Gilbert wandered the room until he happened upon a map of "Tomorrowland". Anne wrote frequently of the place. He touched the edges of the parchment where Anne and her young friend, Elizabeth Grayson, had delegated places for love, hope, and magic to exist. He liked to tease Anne in his letters about Tomorrowland and disclaim the place and the magic therein, for no reason other than to hear Anne fight for its reality. Her insistence that magic was real made him and his powers feel normal. Anne knew the truth of it all as he protested in vain.

Gilbert needed something to occupy his mind. He remembered the stack of student papers on Anne's desk waiting for her attention. He decided to mark them for her until Katherine arrived to collect them. He trimmed the lamp wick and found himself remembering her order. She always did what was hardest first, and for her, that meant starting with mathematics. He found Anne's Euclid in her bag and used it as a refresher as he went through the two-column geometry proofs.

He lost himself in grading and was surprised when he heard footsteps on the stairs. Katherine Brooke's unmistakable voice floating up from below as she told Rebecca Dew she didn't need tea. Gilbert put down Anne's pen and swiveled at the waist to see her approach. Concern fused her bushy black eyebrows when she saw him. Gilbert automatically stood as she reached the center of the room. He wished his father hadn't trained him so thoroughly on gentlemanly customs.

Katherine acknowledged the gesture and asked him to sit as she removed her cloak and hat. She found a home for her accessories next to the blue cushion on the small bench. Katherine next looked to Anne who was sleeping soundly in her over-sized, elevated bed.

"She was so sick when I sent her home," Katherine paused to see if Gilbert were listening. "I wasn't horribly surprised to be summoned here after I returned from the train station. I came as fast as I could. I apologize for the delay, I was seeing Helen home."

"Helen was here? With you?"

"Yes. She came of her own accord. Delivered my new dress. But she's probably back in Carmody by now. I took my time walking home—I really needed to think."

It didn't take too much imagination for Gilbert to figure out the true nature of Helen's trip to Summerside. There were hints of a love affair in Anne's letters. Gilbert erroneously assumed with Helen's engagement to Charlie Sloane she meant to stay loyal to him. But then, Gilbert also knew as well as anyone, a heart wants what a heart wants. And Helen had been pretty clear that any marriage she would make wouldn't be for love. From what he could tell, Charlie accepted her condition. Why he didn't care was a mystery to him.

Gilbert might have said something on his thoughts; however, he needed Katherine's help. He didn't want to vex her.

"I told the widows you should collect Anne's school things, but I really need your help in getting me back to Kingsport. Thank you for coming."

"The note was hard to ignore!" Katherine picked up what looked to be a stack of homework off of Anne's bedside table. "It said that Anne was dying and to call at Windy Poplars pronto, but when I got here Rebecca Dew told me you had just left. I know well enough what happened. That must have been your specter they saw leave since you are still here? Didn't healing her wipe you out?"

"No," Gilbert replied with a firm shake of his head. "It was Anne, she helps me with my abilities and respiratory issues are super easy for me—if it had been something else, perhaps."

"Your gift within a gift?"

"Maybe."

Gilbert thought to his diagnosis paper and how he abruptly left his outline with Dean Tomgallon's effeminate secretary as he dashed off to the docks. Healing respiratory issues was a strength, that was true, but diagnosing was his gift as a healer.

"Gilbert—I wonder how it is you know so little about your powers." Her voice was less scratchy to him now. She moved easily around the room, having visited Anne many times since the winter holiday. Gilbert tried to explain why he seemed so unacknowledged but she waved off his interruption. "I _am_ accounting for the fact you went a long time without your abilities. It's still amazing to me. Do you know what your weakness is then?"

He frowned, "Weakness?"

"Yes, if you have a strength as a healer then you'll have a weakness too. Keeps everything balanced." Gilbert blank face made her chuckle, "I suppose you'll find out soon enough."

Katherine paced before the bed. Dusty Miller hissed at her as her skirt brushed against his corner. He jumped down and scurried out of the room with his fur puffed up and his back arched.

"I hate that cat!" Katherine said. She looked at Gilbert as if he were crazy to allow him into Anne's chamber. Her amber eyes darkened. "I don't trust any cat that has a first and _last_ name! You shouldn't either! How long as he been in here? Anne usually shoos him away when I visit."

"You don't think that cat is a familiar? Do you?" Gilbert suppressed his laughter. "I grew up with cats, that cat is just a cat."

"Let's strive forward on that assumption then," but Katherine found she could not make the heroic effort, "You don't have the gift of tongues, do you? All languages, and talking with different species? I just hope he doesn't understand us."

"I've never heard of anyone doing that except St. Peter at Pentecost," Gilbert rubbed his weary face. He handed over more piles of papers to Katherine. "Katherine, thank you for handling Anne's work, but do you suppose I can get some help in getting back now?"

Katherine huffed, "I was right not to tell you about me. Now you want favors, just like all the other witches I've encountered. Very well. Let's get it over with."

Anne lifted her head up as Katherine and Gilbert continued their stressed discourse. They had forgotten about her. She dropped her head back to the pillow and she quietly listened. The wintergreen scent Gilbert left in her sheets comforted her. She closed her gray eyes and focused on his tired voice.

"How exactly do we do this then?"

Anne knew they were near her desk by the way the words entered her ears.

"Hold my hand and pass some of your magic through me, just like you do with Anne. Only, unlike Anne, who strengthens you, I'll weaken you again as I guide you. Your magic will remember my ability as your powers come back. I won't force you this time. It's up to you."

Anne froze when she heard her name in reference to Gilbert's abilities. She had grown used to hearing such thoughts from Gilbert, about how she helps him with his powers, but hearing about herself from Katherine Brooke as quite another matter.

"Gilbert, just do it. Imagine us standing over there."

There was a long pause that followed Katherine's instruction. Anne waited to hear Gilbert give up. Instead, she heard a slight shout of joy from a different direction.

"Ha! I did it!"

" _W_ _e_ did it. There's no _I_ in this. You can't do _that_ without my help. Some abilities require two at first. Keeps you witches humble."

"I'm grateful for your help."

Anne heard them shuffle closer to her bed and she opened her eyelids a tad. Through the fringe of her ruddy eyelashes, she saw Gilbert help Katherine with her coat. Miss Brooke adjusted her hat by feel and then wrapped her red scarf around her neck.

"Gilbert—lately I've been thinking about our conversation about Anne, and her abilities to filter your powers." Katherine soothed. Anne's breath caught in an inaudible gasp and her eyes widened to hear better. "I dismissed your argument too quickly. Perhaps there is something to be said about _her_ _love_ for you that helps you with your abilities—maybe Anne's not like me at all, as I previously said."

Gilbert sighed, "Thank you for saying that Katherine. It's funny that you did; I was starting to think that you might be right, that Anne does have a passive ability—like you do, and the fact that we love each other doesn't matter in this regard. Maybe the reason I noticed Anne so keenly from the first was that I sensed this about her. It would explain a lot actually."

"Gilbert, don't go all chicken 'n egg on this, which came first?" Katherine replied coolly. "You'll only drive yourself nuts. You love each other now and it doesn't matter how you got there. Goodnight Gilbert."

"Goodnight Katherine"

Anne heard Katherine's departure and then she heard Gilbert's heavier footsteps approach. Anne sat up to see his hazel eyes beaming down at her.

"How much did you hear?" Gilbert asked as he sat down. "Scoot over, please."

"Enough" Anne moved to the cool side of her bed to make room for him.

"Penny for your thoughts?"

"They're higher priced that than," Anne's eyebrow arched. She wanted to ask Gilbert about his speculation. "Do you think she's right? That I'm a leech, like she is? That I have some sort of magical draw?"

"No," Gilbert said as he tucked in next to Anne. He flipped to his side to mirror her. "She has a good point, that's all. I know you better than she does. I know _us_ better than she does, and I'm telling you, Anne, no leech could help me recover like you do. Remember Diana's healing and how you knew I needed you? That's love."

Anne reached to touch the side of his face, her thumb caught by chance the drooping curl of his mustache. "I do love you." Her hand stayed on his jawline, feeling his evening shadow.

He took her hand and kissed her knuckles. "I love you, too."

They held hands as they stared languidly into each other's eyes, both of them trying not to drop their lids with weariness. Gilbert knew he couldn't stay overnight, but he couldn't leave yet either. His powers were still recovering from the bit of magical travel he did with Katherine across the room.

"What are you going to do tomorrow, Anne? I don't think you should teach," Gilbert's tired voice was husky. "You're perfectly healthy now, but, everyone saw you sick. Stay home and recover; otherwise, people will ask."

Anne rolled onto her back and drew her hand away. "Gilbert, I have to go to school," Anne answered. "We have no substitute teacher to cover my classes. Unless. . ." Anne moved up to her elbows and tossed a braid aside. She gave Gilbert a huge grin and chortled through her thought. " _You're_ still a teacher. Your certificate is still good, I even have a copy of it somewhere in my belongings."

"Oh no!" Gilbert perked up a bit. "I can't stay. I've got my own classes to attend, and it's too far away for me to bi-locate for more than twenty minutes. The whole reason for Katherine coming here was to give me the power to travel magically back. I have to be there Anne."

"But the ferry doesn't get back to Kingsport until the afternoon," Anne reminded him, her gray eyes were defiant to his protests. She held back her smile realizing that she was probably going to win this argument. "Do you really want to beat it back to Kingsport? That might be difficult to explain."

"Oh, that would be unwise," Gilbert admitted. His following yawn became contagious. "Of course you're right, but ah—I can't stay here tonight. I do have to go back for a little bit, even if it's just to eat. Rebecca Dew and the others already think I've left. I bi-located an exit. They'll bust at the seams if I come downstairs for breakfast. That will be a whole new set of problems for us."

"I was wondering why those women weren't watching you."

"What?"

"Oh, I'm tired too." Anne said as she snuggled next to him. "How long until you get your powers back."

"When you're next to me, never too long," Gilbert held her tighter to him. "So, what time does my boss want me to report to work?"

"You'll do it then?"

"I will. I'll do anything for you."

"The staff meeting is at 7:30." Anne rubbed his outer arm, over the bulging cuff of his rolled up sleeve and rested her palm on his exposed elbow.

"May I kiss you, Anne?" Gilbert said, not quite sure if he needed an answer. "I need to hasten my departure."

"No, you may not kiss me. I don't want you to leave."

"Just one? Please?"

"Fine—one kiss Gilbert Blythe!" Her smile was cut off as Gilbert rested his forehead over hers and he teased her nose with his. He felt his eyes shut as his puckered lips pressed chastely upon her mouth. When Anne felt his kiss, she held the back of his neck so he would be there for her repayment. Her kiss was not polite and exacted from him a more passionate one.

"I think I'm good to go now." Gilbert said as he broke away from her enchantment.

"Say hello to Eugene then," Anne answered.

"I didn't mean Kingsport," Gilbert blushed-"But that too."

* * *

The dormitory's east-facing windows helped her tenants rise with the sun. Eugene pulled his pillow over his head to cover his eyes from the glaring sunshine as it splashed out the darkness of night. It was then he heard something move. Thinking he had been alone all night he jolted out of bed to find Gilbert in his brown suit before his vanity mirror. He had just placed his mustache curler on the heat register.

"Oh!" Eugene said with a glad sigh. "I thought for a moment it was someone else."

"Someone else?" Gilbert answered as he straightened his tie. "Who else but me, Old Man?"

"I don't know—that isn't important. Aren't you suppose to be in Summerside now in my mother-in-law's house?"

"Yes, I am supposed to be in Summerside and I never made it over to her place. I ended up spending a good chunk of the night with Anne."

"After you healed her?" Eugene's face twitched. "Whatever were you doing?"

"Quit diggin'" Gilbert keep his conversation short as he employed his small, curling iron to his mustache. Any excess movement might cause a burn to his lip.

Eugene now half dressed approached Gilbert. He pulled his suspenders over his shoulders. "Gilbert—while you were gone, Dean Tomgallon intercepted me. He wants to see you, as soon as you get back."

"I'm not back yet, not really," Gilbert replied as he applied his comb to his mop of brown curls. "I'm substitute teaching for Anne today while she feigns recovery."

Eugene hesitated. "Gilbert—I think Dean Tomgallon knows you're a witch. He used the word 'magical' with me when our conversation turned to you. His syntax was too weird unless he knows."

"He doesn't know, Gene. You really worry too much." Gilbert patted Eugene's shoulder as he moved around him. "Do you mind going downstairs to the cafeteria and grabbing a few sandwiches for me—I prefer pastrami if they have it. I'm starving, but I can't be seen yet. The ferry gets back to Kingsport at two in the afternoon."

"Gil, listen to me! I was called to his office to discuss early graduation. Yes that's right, I applied, but anyway, I'm telling you, Dean Tomgallon is a superstitious man open to the idea of supernatural powers! If he doesn't know outright, he's guessed." Eugene huffed as he put on his slippers and made his way to the door, "He had a massive file with your name on it sitting at the top of his desk. When he left the office I took a peak, the top page is stamped, 'Miracle'"

Gilbert felt his jaw lock as he quickly inhaled. "Really?"

"Yes!" Eugene retorted. "You might try to sneak a peek at it, use bi-location."

"I'll think about it," Gilbert answered with knotted brows. "First, food. I really am famished."

* * *

Gilbert Blythe left his coat and hat in Anne's office after the morning staff meeting. In his hands, he carried a copy of Great Expectations and Anne's lesson plan and ledger. He was running a tad behind the bell. When he entered the class of fifteen, about ten girls and five boys, he noticed that all the girls were crowded around one boy. Their handkerchiefs were out and they were blowing noses and stifling cries.

Gilbert set his things on the desk and opened the ledger, attempting to call the class to order.

"Hello, will everyone please take their places," Gilbert said, finding his teacher's voice once more. A couple of girls froze as they looked at him, unable to sit down as instructed. They gaped at him wide-eyed instead. Gilbert pointed to the desks. "Quickly, I apologize I am running late."

The brunette with wavy, waist length hair finally sat down. When Gilbert looked down to read the roster, she leaned into her girlfriend and they both silently mouthed, "Oh my God!" One of the girls drew a heart on her slate but wiped it off before it caught anyone's notice.

Gilbert wrote his name on the board, "Mr. G. Blythe" and quickly explained. "Anne—I mean. . ." He shook his head and restarted. "I am Miss Shirley's substitute." At this statement, a girl in the front row started crying theatrically, dabbing her white hankie to her eyes.

"Uh-" Gilbert tried to figure out what was going on. He addressed the young lady. "Do you need to leave for a moment? Get a sip of water?"

"Oh no, Mr. Blythe-you see, Jimmy told us Miss Shirley died, and now you're here as her substitute, so it must be . . . _true!_ " The mournful voice of his pupil caused Gilbert to blanch a bit. Suddenly, all the ladies in the room were sobbing again. The boys even looked crestfallen.

Gilbert strode to the front of the desk. "Class, I assure you, Miss Shirley is alive and recovering nicely. She asked me personally to fill in for her while she recovers. She'll be back tomorrow."

"Really?"

"Yes! I have my own classes to take at Redmond. She's well and just needs a day to thoroughly rest."

All ten of the girls turned around to stare down one boy with brown, shaggy hair. He wore round glasses similar in style to Eugene's. It was him that the class had surrounded prior to Gilbert's entrance. Gilbert heard him whisper, "I swear, that is what father said."

"You young man," Gilbert looked at him directly, "Mr…?"

The boy stood in response to Gilbert's questioning, "Mr. Hart...Mr. James Hart, Jr. I apologize, but my father told me last night Miss Shirley was struggling to breathe and to pray for her, she didn't have long. My father is the doctor that called on her."

"A doctor?" Gilbert returned back to his desk and rest his rump on the edge of it. He folded his arms across his chest. "Well, your prayers worked then. Miss Shirley is fine. I promise."

Mr. Hart frowned, not because Miss Shirley didn't die, but because he knew his father to be a good doctor and Mr. Blythe's news didn't make sense. The young man sat down and endured the ridicule of his peers for the false information he had given.

Gilbert spent the next hour leading the class through a few sections of Great Expectations. At the end of the lesson, he read aloud Anne's list of study questions for homework. A few students stood to go to their next class, one of them was Mr. Hart.

Gilbert quietly called the young man over to his desk as he passed.

"Mr. Hart—I am guessing that your father trusted you tremendously to reveal such confidential information about Miss Shirley. Sharing that information to impress your classmates is a breach of that trust. You could get him into a lot of trouble. I know, I'm a medical student."

The younger man's forehead furrowed at Gilbert's admonishment. Yes, sir." His shoulders hunched when he looked at the ground.

Gilbert titled his head. He didn't mean to be so stern with the fellow. In a lighter voice, he added, "I meant what I said too, thank you for praying for Anne last night. She is my fiancée. I'd be quite lost without her."

* * *

Fate played a cruel trick on Davy Keith as he departed for home from the Blythe residence. The gangling adolescent with dirty blonde hair found himself walking a little behind Miss Marin. She was on her way to New Halifax via the Carmody road and he was headed in the same direction to Milty Boulter's to see Milty's cousin Mildred, who was pretty but had the personality of drying plaster. They were the only two people on the path and given their similar ages and direction, it did look like they were walking together. That was unplanned. Both of them would have told if you asked, but eventually, they found themselves next to each other on the road anyway.

Davy, at fourteen, wasn't the blurter he used to be, but he found silence annoying and after kicking a loose rock on the red road he said, "So, do you like Prince Edward Island?" Davy then bowed his head down surprised of himself. He wasn't really trying to get to know Miss Marin. He was merely attempting to liven things up until the road forked.

From under her pink and yellow slat bonnet, he heard her say, "Yes, I think so." Miss Marin turned her head and looked at him through the tunnel of her visor. "Papa and I been here a few months now. But we both found work right away and the Avonlea church gave us a nice barrel of food. We were able to make that last a while."

"Oh?" Davy said surprised. "Are you coming to church in Avonlea? I haven't seen you there—of course, I'm usually not paying attention."

Miss Marin looked away from Davy. After taking a few more steps, she suddenly stumbled and fell to her face, like a rabbit disappearing down a hole. Davy squatted next to her, kindly asking if she was all right, as Miss Marin righted herself into a sitting position. Her bonnet had slipped off her head and Davy could see her warm, tea-colored skin that matched her brown hands. The rosy blush that spread across her face added a pretty warmth. She kept her golden-brown eyes on her feet, as she unlaced her shoe.

A bird landed next to them and Davy stopped looking at Miss Marin and instead noticed the white, downy feathers that mixed nicely with the more showy brown plumage of his top feathers. The bird chirped boldly until Miss Marin said quietly, "You can go on now. I am fine."

"It wouldn't be right for me to leave you like this," Davy answered. His voice spooked the bird and it flew off. Miss Marin snapped a puzzled expression to Davy. Seeing him offer his hand, she declined it.

"I just need to fix this." Miss Marin removed a small, thin board from her shoe. It was the front cover of an old book. As she reinserted it, he could see that her shoe had a large hole in the leather sole. "I stepped on a rock and I felt it move the board, but now it's fine." She re-laced the strings through the worn holes and then stood up without any assistance from Davy.

"You need new shoes," Davy said matter-of-factually.

"These are fine. I'm not complaining. Complaining is a tool of the devil."

Miss Marin then pulled the pink and yellow bonnet strings so her all-encompassing visor covered her head. He could no longer see her large eyes, not that he had any business looking at them anyway.

"That was a cover of a book in your shoe, wasn't it?" Davy aimed to change the subject of the conversation to something more dignified than holey soles. "You must like reading."

"I love stories!" Miss Marin answered.

"Well..." Davy's voiced annoyingly cracked in an adolescent way which caused him to pause from the embarrassment. "Anne is always coming home with small books from school for us. She's a teacher over in Summerside. Most of those stories are for girls, so I'll give you some, once Dora is done with them." He then realized that Miss Marin probably didn't know anything about Anne and Dora.

"Thank you, Davy. I'd be happy to look at them." She pointed to her turn. They were at the fork. "I have to go now, Papa will worry if I'm much longer."

"See you later then, Miss Marin."

"Goodbye, Davy"

Davy stood at the fork for a while as he watched Miss Marin continue her way alone. He thought that maybe he should be escorting her, but she was safe enough, New Halifax was only a half mile off. He scratched his head as he mentally filed the thought away for later before running up his side of the fork towards Milty's

* * *

"This—Mr. Blythe—is not the paper I asked you to write!" Dean Tomgallon said as he handed back Gilbert's outline. The large man sat down once again and leaned back in his swivel chair. He glanced up at his wall crucifix in a silent prayer for patience. Gilbert followed his eyes to the corpus. He had always thought the inclusion of a corpse on a cross a counter-productive argument towards the resurrection. Tomgallon found what he needed from his reflection. Returning to Mr. Blythe, he more kindly said, "I am relieved that you do know how the rest of us mere physicians diagnose a patient. At least I can graduate you from this school in a year's time."

"Sir?" Gilbert gingerly flipped through his outline looking for notes or corrections. There were none. He attempted to ignore the disapproving countenance the dean delivered. "This is the method of modern diagnosing. It is the topic you assigned me." He didn't know what more he could say. His preliminary bibliography should have been enough to prove his research was current and topical.

Dean Tomgallon's eyes grew angry. "I asked you to write a paper on how _you_ make diagnoses, not how the rest of the world does. I thought I was clear." He stood and Gilbert felt himself cower a bit to the Dean's hulking if unfit form.

"You were clear. This is how I make diagnoses." He lied. He saw no choice. And Gilbert knew he was a terrible liar.

Tomgallon laughed—slightly menacingly and he pinched the bridge of his nose in exasperation. It was his habit when he showed stress. "Mr. Blythe, you're only making this worse for yourself. This is medical school. Everyone here is bright and we're all men of observation. This.. . ." He pointed his index finger down at the desk to illustrate his displeasure, ". . .is not how you make diagnoses. Do you want me to tell you what I think your method is?"

Gilbert noticed he was rubbing his hands on his trousers, removing dampness collecting in his palms. His jaw jutted once more.

"Here's the rub—if you were to tell me something you rather not anyone else to know, I'd have to honor that, as a matter of confidentiality. You certainly wouldn't be the first student to use me in that capacity."

Gilbert felt his heart quicken a bit. He hadn't planned on telling Tomgallon a thing about being a Blythe. But if he were to keep it secret. . .

"But if I tell you what I think, then the terms of confidentiality are less constrictive, after all, my opinion is just that, a supposition that I wish to explore."

"Sir, I don't know what you are thinking, but please, explain to me. How do you think I diagnose patients then?" Gilbert couldn't admit anything so important that he was a witch with the college dean.

Tomgallon drummed his fingers on his desk mat frowning. "I am not sure you truly understand the opportunity I have given you here, Mr. Blythe, so I decline to answer you right now. But I will eventually—you need time to think."

 **to be continued**


	20. Disasters (Part 1)

Timeline - _Anne of Windy Poplars, The Second Year_ \- March (Anne's birthday).  
Allow me the latitude to connect this narrative to the end chapter 11, where Anne has a cold, but officially, that chapter is about April or so.

* * *

 **Chapter 20: Disaster (Part 1)**

Helen quickly grabbed the horizontal, iron pipe that curtained the top deck of the sinking ship. It was ice cold and the burr of it traveled up her arm and quickened her heart. The wind flung her nut-brown, chin length hair forward and she used her other hand to sweep her bangs back. She knew the events of her premonition well enough now to anticipate the next swell of the quaking sea as the injured vessel bobbed. She did not fall, unlike last time when the seascape bucked and pitched. The crew scrambled around her, not seeing her, lowering the lifeboats and helping the passengers.

What a relief to see that Charles Sloane and Robert Wright were not among the men cowering, or worse, cutting the queue for lifeboats.

The Avonlea pair used very long lengths of rope tied around a foot to rescue any forgotten women and children from the decks below. Between them, a few were brought to air. Charles returned topside again and announced, "I hope we got them all! This ship is lost."

"Abandon ship!" A crewman shouted.

Robert agreed. It was time to save themselves.

Helen and her third eye could assess the state of the watercraft better than they. The hull of the ship had cracked. People were dying. Yet she was proud of her friends as they stood knee deep in salty ocean water. The bow of the ship erected to a steady forty-five degrees as the stern sunk lower. If there were still people below, they had already drowned or were now permanently trapped to endure a terrifying fate. Robert used his pocket knife and cut himself and Charles free of their tethering ropes. As they boarded the last lifeboat, both of them heard the high-pitched voice of a woman, begging for help.

"Help me! I'm stuck! I'm going to drown! Help me! Please, God!"

Helen watched once again as Charles and Robert gazed out to the voice, both of them trying to decide whether or not to even attempt another rescue. Waves of ocean water overtook the vessel. Helen began to fade away from the disaster. Burned into her mind was this picture of Charles Sloane, in his monogrammed life jacket, looking around, trying to decide.

* * *

Gilbert allowed himself to be distracted by the sights, sounds, and smells of the gorgeous spring day. The once large piles of snow and ice were melting into smaller and more rounded mounds. The temperature was a determined forty-five degrees. It was good to be warm. Gilbert forced a smile on his face and contemplated anything he could to avoid a truth that he didn't want to admit. The Dean of the Medical School—Dr. Thomas Tomgallon—knew he was a witch. He wouldn't say it outright, as he wanted Gilbert to admit it to him, but he _knew_ and Gilbert felt threatened.

Eugene had tried to warn him all year that he was too obvious with his powers. Gilbert's nickname, "Dr. Diagnosis" was no longer a good-natured joke. Now his peers looked at his skills with apprehension, not amazement. _How did he not see this before?_ They knew he was different, the lot of them. Even the professors knew something, and now the dean. When Fred knew but didn't know, it was much easier for Gilbert obscure the truth. Fred had preferred the obstruction, but Tomgallon wasn't malleable like Fred had been. He demanded a confession and Gilbert had no idea why.

Eugene looked up from his desk and chin pointed "hello". Even before Gilbert had uttered a single word, Eugene could tell from his gait and carriage that his meeting with Tomgallon had gone poorly. Gilbert took refuge on his side of their room and his bed sang a song of mechanical agonies, squeaking and squawking the moment he threw his weight upon it.

"He knows, Gene. He knows!"

The silence that followed was more upsetting and Eugene couldn't bear it like Gilbert could.

"You didn't tell him, did you?" Eugene slowly spoke as one of his many bubbling questions boiled over. He meant to keep a lid on his thoughts.

Eugene knew Gilbert well enough to be aware of his personality quirks. Gil mirrored the energies of those around him, so Eugene fought his tendency to get excited over Gilbert's powers. He still found them amazing and always would; yet unfortunately, his acceptance of them was too congenial. Gilbert needed to learn how to hide better and Eugene thought perhaps his ease with them was now more a hindrance than a help. It was training Gilbert the wrong way.

"He sure seemed confident that he knew I wasn't like anyone else. He called himself a 'mere physician'. Whatever that means."

"It means you're exceptional o' winner of the Excellence Award."

Gilbert delivered a snort and a sarcastic laugh. "Tell me something I don't know. Anyway, Tomgallon says whatever I tell him will be confidential. So maybe I should. What can he really do?" His tone was not at all convincing.

Eugene resisted the urge to get up and admonish Gilbert for even thinking about telling Dean Tomgallon he had supernatural powers. He bit his tongue, hoping Gil could work out his own direction.

"Maybe he is sincere. He seems to be a very religious man."

"But?"

"But—I guess I'm good with people knowing I have powers, so long as they don't use me."

Gene rolled his pale, blue eyes, "So, you're going to tell him?"

"I think so unless I can find a good reason not to tell him. What harm can come from it?" Gilbert wondered again as he attempted to talk himself out of his trepidation.

"But your gut tells you otherwise?" Eugene bounced. "Maybe Helen can read the situation better." _Darn it!_ Eugene silently admonished himself for mentioning _her_.

"No, she can only see things in the past. Her powers aren't completely restored." Gilbert shook his head. "I thought I explained."

Eugene removed his glasses and massaged his brow and eyes. His glasses were out of date and he needed to visit the oculist. "No, you didn't explain, but, it's not really any of my business." Eugene's animated sigh gave some of his personal frustrations away.

Gilbert once hoped Helen and Eugene might have stumbled upon something a bit more promising than friendship last summer. Eugene turned uncharacteristically agile when around his cousin. Gilbert knew Eugene well enough now to see that his clumsy nature was a buffering defense from the rest of the world. The fact that Gene wasn't that way around Helen made Gilbert think Helen had penetrated past that barrier closer to Gene's heart.

"Gene—what happened between you and Helen?" Gilbert bravely asked. He wondered on and off over the fall and spring terms. Gene always seemed interested to hear of his news from home and his attentions were more rapt when that news was about or from Helen.

"Nothing"

"You know if I were to ask Helen she'll tell me everything. I rather ask you."

Predictably, there was a crash of movement as Eugene attempted to stand. Gilbert watched with a knowing smirk as Gene collected himself from the floor.

"Gil, when you were with Anne the evening after Mrs. Wright was healed, Helen and I had a little talk, and. . . ."

"And?"

"I'm not going to tell you all the particulars, but, there was magic in the air," Eugene cut himself short. "Sorry, I forgot for a second with whom I was speaking. I . . ."

"You kissed her?" Gilbert interrupted with a slight but approving smile.

Eugene shook his head, "No. I did something more foolish than that. I... _proposed_."

"You what?" Gilbert felt his heart start to race from Gene's boldness and he couldn't stop the feeling of surprise dancing through his body. What Eugene lacked in physical attractiveness he apparently made up for in confidence. Did he really have the audacity to propose after knowing Helen for a short week?

"She said 'no' so you can stop looking at me as if I'm a monster."

"Well, no, you're not a monster," Gilbert reassured. "You have more gall than I ever thought. She really said 'no'? I did think she liked you a whole lot more than Charlie and she told him 'yes'."

Eugene paced the floor as he worried himself through the memory, "I think she was right now, but I was serious when I asked. Everything I told her I meant, and still do."

"Sounds like she let you down easy," Gilbert's mustache twitched in uncertain emotion. Should he smile? Should he frown? Eugene didn't seem too distraught over Helen's refusing him. Gilbert remembered how he belly-ached for months when Anne refused him. Gil had tried his best to hide his disappointment from the rest of the world, but people knew. Her refusal had put a cloud over him.

Gilbert attempted to read Gene's body language to see if he was holding back.

"She would have said 'yes' Gilbert." Eugene looked at his books and notes piled neatly on his study desk. Earning his medical degree was his most important endeavor, it trumped everything else, including love, "She would have said 'yes' if I had agreed to stay on the island with her. And you know why I can't do that."

"Your mission—improve women's healthcare?"

"Exactly," Eugene could not deny his higher calling and Gilbert heard him sigh again, "But, going back to Tomgallon, I don't see how it would hurt to try and find out more. It's well within your capabilities to do some espionage. I wouldn't rush to tell him, Gil."

"What do you suggest?"

"Same thing as before. Bi-locate into his office and find that file."

* * *

Mr. Blythe had been right when he told Davy he'd be seeing a lot of Mr. Marin and his daughter. Mr. Marin stayed more or less around the barn where he cared for the hogs, cattle, and horses. He also worked on getting the farm equipment ready for planting time. Spring was just a few weeks away. The snow was almost gone and the ground would thaw. When planting time arrived, they'd all take turns at the plow and Mr. Marin would switch out the oxen and horses regularly so the animals were always rested.

Mr. Blythe took Davy for long, meandering walks around his property. Davy would tell Mr. Blythe about his day at school. He wasn't the biggest or brightest of the class but always tried hard. From these moments with Mr. Blythe, Davy slowly developed a sense of what having a father was like. Mr. Blythe was a fine listener. Nothing he said was unwelcome or uncomfortable, even his little story about not being the greatest student met a kind ear. Mr. Blythe informed Davy that he was a scholar after his own heart. He never quite understood Gilbert's passion for books.

The truth was Mr. Blythe understood Davy better than Davy understood himself. He knew why Davy was slow to move away from the meadow when Mr. Marin and his daughter wrangled the herd. Davy was experiencing a different sort of spring. Mr. Blythe had seen it before in Gilbert, albeit, Gil knew girls liked him. Davy didn't have such confidence. When John placed a hand on Davy to nudge him along, Davy only mentioned he really didn't see how the Marins managed to get the entire herd across the land so fast. It might have taken him days to accomplish what they could do in a few minutes.

Mr. Blythe explained that Mr. Marin was in charge of the barnyard animals when Davy hinted he could help with the cows. Mr. Marin needed some more convincing on Davy's capabilities before he'd let Davy pitch in with their milking, feeding, and cleaning. That decision might have suited Davy better if it weren't for the fact that his delicate looking daughter was allowed to slap around a thousand pound bull without her father raising any notes of concern for her safety.

Davy did things like unloading wagons and moving one-hundred-and-fifty-pound sacks of feed from one side of the stable to the other. Mr. Marin was not in the best shape for heavy lifting and conceded to Davy's assumed stronger muscles. Davy could barely lift one of those sacks.

Henrietta, the sow, watched him as he maneuvered the sack on the ground. Davy heard her snorts as he neared her trough. She called to him, asking for slop. _Grunt, grrr-oink_ was all that the pig could say, even if she executed a variance of pitches to compensate for a lackluster vocabulary.

"Pig, I don't have anything for you!" Davy huffed after the third passing. "I'm sure you'll get your slop soon enough." Davy slid to the ground and rested a moment against the weight of the bag.

Miss Marin entered the open-air stable and found Davy resting. Her golden eyes blazed to see him sitting. Davy stood up again and got back to work. He didn't want her to know that he found the chore exhausting. The pig oinked away as Davy attempted to budge the bag.

"I'll help you, Davy," Miss Marin decided. The sack weighed more than Davy.

She took one side of the sack and Davy managed the other. Together they half-carried, half-dragged the feed to its proper storage place in the main part of the barn. Davy wiped his brow when it was over.

"Thanks!'

"Those are too heavy for you," she replied as she flattened the part running down the center of her head. She also had beads of perspiration around her hairline. Davy trained his eyes to follow the length of her stiff braid. He had caught himself staring at her one too many times. "Next time call me, I can hitch up Rival to a cart."

Davy smiled slightly, appreciating Miss Marin's work-saving idea but not necessarily liking the fact he needed the help. He was still on the small side of fourteen and not much taller than she. He wondered if his father had been a tall man, like Mr. Blythe and Gilbert. At least then he could hope for a day when those sacks would be no match for his strength.

"That's alright," Davy answered as he walked back to the place where Henrietta had oinked at him. He saw the bench now.

Miss Marin followed Davy. Henrietta saw her approach and excitedly tried to gain her attention.

"Be quiet, Pig!" Davy said. There was something peculiar about the sow: It kept trying to get their attention.

"Please stop calling her Pig!" Miss Marin blasted at Davy. Miss Marin was normally so quiet that her bold voice had a double effect. Her words lingered in the air like a fragrance. "She doesn't like it."

Her brown hands were fists on her hips. It was all Davy could do not to smile. He thought he might choke stifling his grins down. He couldn't take her eyes off her excited countenance.

"You don't want me to call her Pig? You do know she _is_ a pig." Davy's hazel eyes flashed back to her. It was true after all. There was no point in Miss Marin saying she wasn't.

Miss Marin huffed, "She has a name and it's Henrietta." Her chin tilted up a bit for effect.

Davy laughed now, his smile spread stretched from one side to the other, "You want me to call her Henrietta?"

"That's right."

Davy couldn't quite believe how forceful Miss Marin had become. It was odd, like finding Dora in a disagreeable mood.

Miss Marin face flashed an additional thought. "I think you should even apologize to her".

The pig squealed approval.

Davy looked away from the hilarity of it all. He was already in the habit of just apologizing for things that had nothing to do with him. _Why not?_ He got up and stood next to the trough where the pig waited and said, "Henrietta, I apologize for calling you 'Pig'."

The large sow looked back at him. She quietly drooled her thanks as her brown eyes blinked. Now much quieter, she waddled away to wallow in the mud.

"Thank you for doing that Davy." Miss Marin said quietly now.

She was now sitting on the bench, adjusting her shoes. Davy watched her small, brown hand manage the laces. The soles of her boots looked like Swiss cheese.

"You're still wearing those shoes?" Davy blurted, "I thought you were going to replace them. I gave you a quarter to help."

"Papa hasn't been feeling well, so the shoe money went to the doctor," Davy watched as Miss Marin's apologetic flush spread across her face. "Please don't be mad."

"I'm sorry," Davy immediately said as he sat down next to her. "Of course, you should help your father. Is he better then?"

"He's always had troubles with his shakes," Miss Marin answered flatly, not willing to complain, even in tone, "Just seems like they're worse."

"But he's better now?" Davy asked again. He had seen Mr. Marin have a seizure once. Mr. Blythe managed to keep Mr. Marin from knocking his head too hard on the ground. It was unsettling to watch. Mr. Blythe explained that sometimes it was normal for folks to have those types of troubles. There was even a word for it, something that started with an 'e'.

"Yes, I think so," she reported. "Last night we read some of those books you gave me. Have you read them yourself?"

Davy indicated 'no'.

Miss Marin then straightened her spine and courageously informed Davy, "Father reads them to me. The words are too big for me to understand. Do you also have a hard time reading?" She looked at him hopefully. Davy wondered if she had overheard him talking with Mr. Blythe about school. The books he had given her were written for children younger than them. He could read them easily if he wanted to.

"Not so much anymore," Davy truthfully responded. "But, I go to school. You should too."

"I hope I can next year," Miss Marin answered. "Papa hoped that Avonlea would take me. But the school board has rules about colored children at a white school."

Davy's stomach hurt realizing what she had told him. It was so unfair that it sickened him. "You don't go to school because you're half-black?"

"Well—I could go to the school in New Halifax." She swung a leg forward, "But it turns out there's not much to learn there and then, we do need the money. So I work. But I do want to read better. It's a dream of mine."

Davy swallowed and he heard himself suggest much to his own surprise. "Maybe I can help you since we're going to be seeing each other almost every day over the summer."

"Help me?" Miss Marin uncomfortably squeaked. "You?"

"Well—Anne's a teacher, and, I can always ask her for help." Davy didn't know where this idea was coming from; the words were coming out of his mouth unbidden. He felt his panic build, but his mouth continued on. "Would it really hurt if I tried?"

Miss Marin's forehead was a river of concerned lines as she looked him over, trying to decide. "I suppose, it won't hurt." She kicked another leg forward and sat a bit longer next to him. Both of them were looking ahead, trying their best not to look at each other. Davy didn't know how that had happened. He volunteered to help someone with schoolwork. Finally, Miss Marin excused herself saying that Mrs. Blythe was probably missing her.

Davy nodded, now unable to talk or give the simplest good-bye.

* * *

Diana Wright wrung her hands dry with a kitchen towel before she left her washtubs to respond to the familiar knock at the side door. Out of habit, she made a feeble attempt to neaten her appearance by tightening her slack apron strings. Diana reached for the brass knob and found, as she suspected, fourteen-year-old Dora Keith standing on her stoop. She had come to change the diapers of Diana's son and daughter.

Marilla Cuthbert's declaration that Dora could marry Ralph Andrews once she changed two thousand dirty diapers made quite the stir throughout Avonlea and beyond. Some thought Marilla mad, and a few thought her clever, but Diana, and the other mothers with very young children in the area, believed Marilla's strange decision to be providential. Every day they could count on young Dora Keith knocking at their door asking if she could change a diaper or two for them.

"Dora!" Diana smiled at the tall young lady and ushered her inside like an honored guest. "You caught me in the middle of washing laundry. I do wish Marilla would let you count the hours you spend here doing little things for me too."

"I tried but she reminded me our deal was on diapers and only the diapers. Although, she might allow Ralph to help me, and count any diaper he changes as well. But she said she first needs to see him do it first. She says she might even pay money to see Mr. Harmon Andrew's son change a nappy or two."

Dora followed Diana and her jolly laugh back to the stoves where the tubs of water sat heating up. Mrs. Wright gave the fire more coal hoping the additional fuel would speed up her work.

"Don't you do laundry on Mondays, Mrs. Wright?" Marilla had taught Dora long ago that each day had its own work, along with just plain tidying up and cooking meals.

"Well, yes, I do, but sometimes, you have to break the rules." Diana then showed Dora the overflowing diaper pail. "Freddie and Anne Cordelia have been sick and going through diapers like crazy. So, either I do laundry again or I run out. I suppose you're making your circuit this afternoon, you usually visit me last, I'm so far away."

After school and on weekends, Marilla let her walk to Billy Andrew's place, where there were always children running around needing a change, and then to Mrs. Robert Wright's, to change baby Robbie's soiled diaper, and then all the way out to Mrs. Fred Wright, where she could stay until Fred Jr and his baby sister were in Dora's need.

"Do I dare ask?" Diana hushed and twisted her lips, trying not to gossip but needing to satisfy her curiosity. "How is Gertie doing? Is there any more news on Robert? Or Charlie Sloane?"

"No," Dora said. All of Avonlea buzzed with rumors of the delayed ship. Delays were common though, the screw-ship steamers weren't perfect vessels, and many no longer had masts for sails as a backup. If the propellers had died, the ship might be adrift for a while before rescue.

"Fred is very worried and is organizing a prayer meeting here. It's tomorrow evening."

Dora gave Diana a faint smile. It was nice to hear that former Elder Wright still enjoyed Christian fellowship. No one knew quite the reason for his resignation from the session.

"I hope they come home."

"I hope so too. You're welcomed to pray with us, in fact, please do keep them both in your prayers, but I'm telling you this because Mr. Marin plans to invite his neighbors from New Halifax, and there will be quite a few babies here if so. You can really improve your count and meet some other mothers. And that might help you improve your daily count too." Diana blinked her kind eyes adding, "And I'll be very grateful for your help. How many diapers are you at?"

"Two hundred and two," Dora supplied shamefully. It was really very kind of Mrs. Wright to think of her. Dora and Ralph had figured out at the rate she was going, she'd be eighteen before they could marry. There was hardly any point. Dora kept suggesting that Ralph could help her; Marilla would be fair about it. And then Ralph would frown, stating that diaper changing was woman's work.

"Well, here's to two hundred and four before the end of today."

"Thank you, Mrs. Wright."

Diana smiled and suggested, "You can call me 'Diana'. At least, when we're alone like this. Don't call me 'Diana' in front of my mother though, she might faint."

* * *

Gilbert and Eugene thumbed through the many pages of Gilbert's file that had been supernaturally liberated from Dean Tomgallon's office. It was the exact same file Eugene had seen. Eugene had won their discussion on whether Gilbert should bi-locate into his office and borrow that journal, but only after Eugene assured Gilbert to the point of exhaustion that it would not be a misuse of his abilities. It was a matter of self-preservation.

Tomgallon kept his office tidy, much to Gilbert's annoyance. The entire room was spartan. Dean Tomgallon's desk only displayed his nameplate and a photograph of his very large family. For a second, Gilbert was distracted by the number of children on display. Gilbert counted heads; which included ten sons and four daughters, living. There had been others, now deceased. Everyone knew that death seemed to chase the Tomgallon name. Dr. Tomgallon sat in the center of his large family next to his wife. His fourteen children were satellites around them. With an apologetic sigh, Gilbert returned the photograph to its spot before searching the desk's drawers under their scowls.

After the desk failed to yield the treasure Gilbert sought, he turned his attention to the cherry-wood filing cabinets. The drawers were locked. Gilbert put his hands on his narrow hips and shrugged to no one his frustration as he pondered his options. His gut told him that he should be able to get to the contents the lock secured. He sensed a magical solution. Strictly speaking, his second body was whatever Gilbert needed it to be. He could turn his finger into a skeleton key. Or he could make himself into a tiny man and bi-locate into the drawer and unlock it from within. That seemed silly, running around the interior of the file cabinet as a small person, but it was the process of thinking through his powers that he finally saw how to handle the lock. In a moment of clarity, Gilbert pressed his thumb to upon the mechanism and the lock obeyed. Gilbert was happy to find the file but he was happier yet to cast his first magical spell. Once the file was in his hands, he closed the cabinet and shut down his second body. The file traveled back with him.

"I got it!" Gilbert said as his dormant body snapped back to life in the seclusion of the dormitory room. He showed Eugene the carefully collected folder with the name, _Gilbert J. Blythe_ and his graduating year, written in neat, typewritten letters on the front.

Eugene crossed the room and took the file from Gilbert's hands bringing it to his desk where there was more room to dissect its innards. There on top was the page he had seen in a second's worth of snooping. Like a newspaper headline, only in red ink, the word "Miracle!" was stamped diagonally from the bottom left to upper right corners in huge, block letters.

"Here it is," Eugene hunched over the page so that Gilbert couldn't see it when he tried to lean in. "It's from Dr. Blair's office. It's your typhoid record, although, it seems Dr. Blair attempted to release the record without your name on it. He inked out some identifiers." Eugene chortled. "He left in the comments section that you had won the Cooper. So much for your privacy."

Gilbert felt the line between his hazel eyes appear, "That was deliberate, don't you think?" Eugene nodded but he was reading a handwritten letter secured to the record.

"Gil, listen to this. . .

" _Dear Tom,_

 _I have another miracle for you and your collection. This truly defies explanation. It's the worst case of typhoid I have ever seen. I told the patient's parents that he would die. The nurse thought so, and his great-uncle, who's another physician in practice agreed. My patient went through some of the worst hallucinations I had ever seen. And then his fever broke. Mysteriously, he made full recovery in days, when really, it should have taken him over a year. The last time I visited him, he was unloading one-hundred-and-fifty-pound sacks of feed off his father's wagon, and this was two weeks after I declared him gone. I cannot figure this one out, but then, sometimes that is how Providence works._

 _Respectively,_

 _Jimmy Blair_

 _Dr. J.B.T.W. Blair, MD Carmody_

 _Class of '56 – McGill"_

"Dr. Blair had no right to share my records with anyone except those that may need to see it."

Eugene wasn't finished and he looked through the rest of his section. "Gil, this is your scholastic record. It has everything a dean would want on his student. Copies of grades, admissions test, awards, recommendations, notes from professors. . ."

"And statements of health," Gilbert said as he found his own signature authorizing the release of his medical records from Dr. Spencer and Dr. Blair's offices among other pages. There were notes from both physicians going back to his birth. "And, I found another copy of those typhoid notes, only, it was unadulterated. My name shows up sure as Christmas. All this was meant to prove I was fit for school." Gilbert concluded. "We have nothing. I'm no closer in answered my questions on what he may know, or suspect about me."

"No," Eugene viciously shook his head. "I think we do, actually. According to your doctor, Dr. Blair, Dean Tomgallon collects miracles! _That's_ the file we need to see. You need to go back and find it."

"No" Gilbert now shook his head. "This is the only file he had on me in that office. I looked everywhere for a key to unlock the cabinet."

"Gilbert, please tell me you didn't break anything to get this file out. I didn't even think about that. How did you manage it?"

"Bi-location is a versatile gift," Gilbert said in a quick huff of ambiguity.

Eugene paled. "Just how many blooms are in your magical bouquet?"

"Way to go in not making me feel weird," Gilbert complained as Eugene piled those pages back in their original order. Gilbert took them out of Gene's hand and placed them back in the folder bearing his name.

* * *

Katherine Brooke rolled to her back where she proceeded to stretch her arms over her head, thus opening her lungs for a deep, easy yawn. She then smoothed her lacy, white chemise back down and adjusted her dark long hair so it did not pull so hard. Her movements did not disturb her bedfellow. Helen Blythe laid next to Katherine, asleep still, but in a state of magical distress. It was Helen's shuddering movements that had caused Katherine to wake in the first place. Helen's dream was a re-occurring nightmare that had something to do with Charles Sloane's delay back home.

Katherine traveled regularly to Carmody on her weekends to be with Helen. Initially, her intent was to handle some of the bookkeeping Charles had left in Helen's care. Katherine found she enjoyed secretarial work as she went through Helen's business mail and prepared checks to vendors. Her presence eased Helen's anxieties so she could work with her creative team. According to the correspondence she received from Europe, Charles and Robert had managed to sell Helen's designs to a network of finishing schools. Helen's garments were easy to sew and alter, but the embellishments to those patterns were rich and a skillful exercise for a young lady learning to work a needle.

Katherine's striking red dress was a perfect example of one of Helen's original designs. It was a simple three-panel dress but the embroidery of the center panel made the dress unique. Everyone complimented Katherine when she wore it and Katherine enjoyed the commotion she stirred. Katherine couldn't believe that she had shied away from it as long as she had. It fitted her becomingly.

Another example of Helen's style was her own wedding dress. At first, when Helen showed Katherine her pale yellow gown, all Katherine could think was the old saying, _Married in yellow, ashamed of your fellow_. Lately, though, Katherine couldn't help but admire the details she added to the otherwise plain dress. Helen's bust and hips flared beautifully from her waist because of the ombré arrangement of three thousand French knots highlighting her voluptuous curves. It made the otherwise austere gown grand enough for any island princess.

Katherine wondered if Helen would actually wear the dress for her wedding. Helen was close to giving up on her hopes that Charles survived. Helen's anxieties coaxed Katherine's attention. She gave Helen her deep friendship. She gave her hugs and kisses. And one night, her passions. Somewhere along the way, Katherine stopped faulting Helen for making the decision to marry. _Marriage was a necessary choice for women in Canada.*_ Love was not a factor in her equation.

Helen continued to shudder next to Katherine. Her eyes darted back and forth under her lids. Katherine butted her head next to hers and quietly slipped her hand into hers. Helen grasped Katherine's hand lightly.

"There now," Katherine whispered to her witch, "I'm here to help you. Let me. Use me."

Helen's small stirrings lessened as Katherine's palms grew damp. Helen roused awake and relinquished her hold as she sat up.

"Did you see it again? The shipwreck?" Katherine asked, knowing she had.

Helen rubbed her blue eyes before settling back into the comfort of her pillow.

"Yes"

"Are they alive?"

Helen shook her head, frustrated. "I don't know. I just don't know. I've been having these dreams for two weeks now. It doesn't seem likely, does it?"

"No," Katherine was always honest almost to a point of cruelty. "I hope the live, for your sake. What will you do if they're not?"

Helen's eyes brimmed with tears and she found Katherine's hand again. "I don't know, but with your help, I think I will survive."

* * *

After Gilbert returned the file to Tomgallon's office, Eugene dispatched Gilbert to his residence. If there was such a collection of miracles, it was likely that the Dean kept them there.

The Tomgallon's were at table for dinner when Gilbert bi-located into his professor's private office. Gilbert waited for his eyes to adjust to the dim light before moving. The clutter was more pronounced in the small, dark room. In a corner was an examination table, a hallmark back to when the Dean was in general practice. He had given it up. Teaching might have been an attractive switch for a man with so many children. The hours would be more steady and the money regular.

Gilbert saw a stack of papers on his desk. Carefully, he shuffled closer to the desk until he was standing over the tower. He worked through the pile. Stored near the top, was a bound folder with the word "miracles" scribbled over it. The Dean's handwriting was tough to decipher in such low light. He was about to bi-locate back when he heard it. Gooseflesh erupted over his arms.

A child was coughing terribly.

Gilbert raked his hand through his hair and listened to the wet, congested cough coming from the adjacent room. Anxieties long forgotten reclaimed him and Gilbert's conscience poked him. The sound of it reminded him strongly of his father, back when he had consumption. The poor child could barely breathe. Gilbert heard the shuffling sounds of a nurse trying to provide comfort with her non-magical hands. Gilbert stood spellbound overhearing her soft voice.

"Don't worry, Andrew," she said lovingly. "I'll get you cleaned up and a fresh blanket."

A door opened and shut and then Gilbert heard movement in the hall as the nurse passed close by. The boy was too busy coughing his lungs out to bother to cry. Gilbert's powers urged him to heal. He'd have to close down his second body to do it and come back.

Gilbert put the file he found back on Tomgallon's desk. The miracles Tomgallon collected were Tomgallon's business, not his. It would just take a moment, he could heal the boy, and he wasn't going to wait or argue with himself on whether he should. Gilbert shut down his second body and before Eugene could ask, he magically traveled back to Tomgallon's house. He found himself knocking on the front door and asking for the Dean. There was something he needed to tell him.

* * *

Gilbert waited in the entry of the large house as the manservant called for the master. Dean Tomgallon came forward and glared at Gilbert. Gilbert broke eye contact and then indicated that the butler should be excused.

"That's alright, Mr. Evans," the Dean said picking up on Gilbert's cue. The butler retreated quickly. The Dean leaned into in Gilbert's space, challenging his coming, "You came all the way to my place to tell me something? This better be good, Mr. Blythe."

Gilbert attempted to take a step forward, straining to hear the boy's cough. "May I come in further? I believe someone here needs my help."

Tomgallon was stationary as a mountain, his huge body blocking the corridor. Gilbert side-stepped around him anyway and paced to the other end of the parlor until he heard it again.

"Is that your son?" His hazel eyes flashed back to the Dean's. "I can _help_.' Gilbert said again.

Dean Tomgallon stopped being an intimating educator and looked more like a worried father. "My son Andrew is dying from consumption."

"I recognize that cough," Gilbert reported.

"And so you should."

"No—I mean, my father had consumption. I would know _that_ cough anywhere. Just the sound of it puts a panic in me."

Gilbert automatically searched for the source and wandered into the hallway. He couldn't have stopped himself if he had tried. Normally, he wielded his powers, but it seemed to be the other way around now. He had to cure the boy. Tomgallon let him roam but monitored his progress.

Gilbert stopped in front of the door that isolated the young boy from the rest of the family. He had no plans to barge in and scare him. He told Tomgallon what he wanted. "Please introduce me to Andrew. It will go better if he's not afraid of me." Gilbert's hands trembled as he felt his powers build and he caught Tomgallon noticing his quivering fingers.

"Alright, Mr. Blythe," and Tomgallon placed his chubby hand on the doorknob.

The nurse sat next to Andrew. She was dabbing his peaked face with a moistened towel removing the phlegm and blood expelling from his mouth and nose. Despite the terrible state he was in, Andrew gave his father a smile. Gilbert followed two steps behind the large man satisfied with his decision to heal the boy. Maybe this would right the wrong he made in snooping around Tomgallon's things in the first place.

"Nurse Rogers, why don't you take a break for a second? I'll sit with my son."

Nurse Rogers dutifully exited the room with a promise to return shortly with water and more towels. Tomgallon balanced his overweight form on the chair she vacated.

"Son—Andy, someone is here to see you. He's a student of mine at school. His name is Mr. Blythe. He wants to take a look at you. Is that alright?"

The boy squinted a 'yes' with his eyes somewhere between all his deep, guttural coughs. Gilbert kneeled next to Andrew and said quietly. "I'm going to hold your hand, so I can really see what's wrong and what I need to do. My hand will get a bit warm, but don't let it concern you."

Holding the boy's hand was almost like holding a skeleton's hand. It was so thin and fragile. Gilbert could tell at once that Andrew had been fighting tuberculosis a long time. The boy's life-force told Gilbert's he was desperate for relief, so desperate, that death would be a welcomed friend. Luckily for Andrew, he was going to live. As Gilbert read the child's health, he felt his abilities flowing into him. Andrew had stopped coughing and his breathing improved.

Gilbert turned and looked at Tomgallon. The Dean's cheeks were wet but Gilbert pretended not to see his tears.

"I'll need to unbutton his nightshirt."

"Go ahead"

He noticed how Andrew's white nightshirt bore faded bloodstains as he unbuttoned the vertical line. He reached his hand inside and laid it firm on his chest. His hand was big enough to cover both lungs. Gilbert also bi-located his magic to be inside the boy's chest cavity. Gilbert felt himself weaken as the flow of energy restored his lungs completely. The boy's breathing normalized. He did not remove his hands until he was sure he had eradicated all the disease.

Gilbert felt the hand of his mentor on his shoulder. He shrugged off the additional emotional weight. The Dean knew what he was now. Gilbert stood slowly and told Andrew, "You should feel better now."

Tomgallon crowded in, using his stethoscope to hear his son's lungs. Gilbert felt conspicuous and added distance between himself and the beautiful picture of father and son. Andrew hugged his father back, telling him how good he felt, showing him how his lungs could take a deep breath. And his father was blessing God for Gilbert's healing. When the nurse returned, Gilbert made his way to the hall. He tried to navigate his way back to the front door but found his legs wobbly and his vision blurry. He would have magically traveled his way back to his room if he hadn't, once again, burned off that ability Katherine had shown him.

Tomgallon found him stumbling and helped him into the very office that Gilbert had earlier visited. Gilbert sat down in the chair in front of the desk.

"Mr. Blythe—Gilbert. Do you need something, water? You don't look very well."

Gilbert shook his head 'no'. It was good to sit; he could recover quicker in the chair than on his feet.

"You healed my boy!" Tomgallon pulled out his handkerchief and wiped his eyes. "Thank you for that. A million thanks."

Gilbert sat numb. "You knew about me though, didn't you?"

"I only hoped I was right!" Tomgallon explained. "There have been a few others that managed to hide their powers in medical school. But their abilities were rather limited. You, on the other hand. Wow! I can't believe I finally found you!" Tomgallon said ecstatically. His chuckles were joyous. "I've been close before, looking for one witch, any witch strong enough to counter the family curse. I thought once I found a man in Cuba but then he ran off before I could do a proper investigation. But he was only an animal charmer. But you!" Once again Gilbert found himself on the receiving end of uncomfortable adulation. "You're the most powerful witch that I've ever studied."

"Studied?" Gilbert perked up.

"Know of, I mean," Tomgallon waved the cigar he had lit in celebration before Gilbert. "I just can't ask any ol' witch to do what needs to be done. No! My family has been cursed for a century. And you will get rid of it for me."

 **to be continued**

* * *

*LM Montgomery


	21. Disasters (Part 2)

Timeline - _Anne of Windy Poplars, The Second Year_ \- March (Anne's birthday).  
Allow me the latitude to connect this narrative to the of chapter 11, where Anne has a cold, but officially, that chapter is about April or so.

Readers-The Tomgallon curse is prominently feature in The Third Year of Anne of Windy Poplars.

* * *

 **Chapter 21: Disasters (Part 2)**

Gilbert wished his powers included the ability to pull back the darkness of night. It was dismally bleak outside but behind night's drab curtain was a lantern of hope. He pushed his cheek flush to the cold window of Tomgallon's carriage and cast his hazel eyes up to make sure his faith in the stars was not in vain. He found those twinkling points smiling. Night might be ruling the hour but it would not always be so. The darkness was only a skin. The physician in Gilbert knew that eventually the sky would hemorrhage and sunlight would bleed out and cover all the dusk.

The tides would turn. Good would come from bad. And a curse would become a blessing.

If only Gilbert knew how to bring its fruition.

 _Curse breaking!_

According to the Dean, to break the curse a sacrifice must be made. Someone lucky must be separated from their good fortune.

"Sacrifice?" Gilbert had repeated at the time, his breath was light and his throat was dry. "Sir, you can't mean. . ."

Tomgallon's face squashed any hope for misunderstanding.

It was so alien to him; to hurt someone; to lead them to harm. The proposal was against everything Gilbert had been taught about being a Blythe. He rather have no magic at all. He wasn't going to kill to settle a curse.

"It can be done in effigy, although, it would be better, and more effective if blood were shed. That's why I've been looking for a witch of your caliber. A healer specifically, but I was starting to feel desperate."

Although his jaw was loose and ready to speak, Gilbert sat mute, frozen by his new reality. Tomgallon was possibly insane.

"Sir? Anyone that knows me will tell you I am not capable of what you're suggesting. I heal people."

The Dean gave him a judging look. "You belong to a church back home. I remember your minister wrote a letter of recommendation when you applied for admission. You're familiar with Passover?"

"Of course," Gilbert answered, his mind now trying to recall the events of Exodus.

Tomgallon drummed his fingers as he explained. "The Israelites painted the blood of a lamb on the doorjambs of their home. The Angel of Death saw and passed over. Blood has always been an excellent medium to thwart evil. And you can bring someone back." The older man sort of chortled past any natural misgivings, hearing his own eeriness. He lit a new stogie and puffed. "There's really no one better than you to do this. Your powers are just amazing, Mr. Blythe. No one needs to die."

The man blew a satisfying smoke ring. It haloed over Tomgallon, and for a fleeting second, Gilbert saw him as the ancient dragon—the Great Destroyer.

"I am not going to do it, it's not how my powers work." Gilbert had insisted. Gone were his inhibitions not to tell the Dean anything about his abilities, he had to understand. "There are times I cannot heal. I get blocks, and I just _can't_. It's too much of a risk. What you're prepared to do is evil, sir."

"Evil?" There was a snort right before he bellowed. "You don't understand. You have no idea what this _evil_ has done to my family, Mr. Blythe!" Dean Tomgallon's fist hit his desk and caused Gilbert's heart rate to triple.

The man looked like a bull, ready to charge.

"And I will, as I am sure you would, do whatever is necessary to protect my family." More quietly, "You went all the way to Summerside to heal your fiancée, didn't you? I respect that," He took a deep drag, again saying, "No one will be permanently hurt. Not with you presiding."

He tapped ashes off the end of his stogie into a tray.

"We just need to find someone extremely fortunate to be our lamb."

Inadvertently, Gilbert's head filled with thoughts of his beloved Anne-girl. She always had favor with luck, turning unhappy situations into better ones. Anne never saw the clouds, only the silver linings. It was one of the reasons why he loved her so much.

"And what happens when you do find this person?"

Gilbert coughed away the smoke. The reflex allowed him to bow his head, away from the Dean's scrutinizing black eyes.

"Simple—we bait a trap. Just need to have them stay overnight at the old Tomgallon mansion in Summerside. Here, let me show you what this curse has meant to my family for the last hundred years."

He drew out his family tree on a sheet a paper, showing Gilbert who had died or disappeared with giant 'X's. "Almost always in the month of March," Tomgallon repeated frequently. He announced the year with each crossing. "And usually, a female."

Gilbert's eyes glazed over the surreal scene and again, he filled his head with thoughts of Anne. The memory of her smile and gray eyes muted Tomgallon's unbridled plans until at last, he was shunted off back to his dorm room in the Tomgallon carriage.

* * *

Helen Blythe still found the horizontal iron bar adhered to the side of the sinking ship unnaturally cold. She glanced down and saw her knuckles numb-white as she transferred her physical strength into the act of just holding on. She tried to mute the noise of crying children and the shouts of crewmen. It was a vision after all, and she was more than capable of adjusting some elements of it. She was out of practice. Eventually, along with the continuing sloshing sound of water, she forced these noises to blend into a strange harmonic motif. The foreboding music was underpinned to the melody of urgent conversation. The higher pitches were alarming enough, but the added discord of lyrics even caused the stars to vibrate.

"Help me! I'm going to drown. I don't want to die."

Helen heard again and again, like a phonograph with a skip. The shrill voice pierced her temples. Her headache grew wickedly strong as she mustered all her magical powers to remain in the vision. Helen's blue eyes instantly found Charles Sloane's face and Robert Wright predictably stood next to him. Both of them glanced towards the direction of the urgent pleas and then back to each other, their worry lines mirrored. They decided who would go with the slightest change in expression. Robert's brown eyes were more anxious and Charles' eyes blinked slowly as he acknowledged himself as the weaker of the two. Robert had the best chance of succeeding.

Finally, Robert spoke. "I'm the better swimmer and I have the knife. She might be caught on something. And we both can't go. Someone has to survive this. Avonlea wouldn't stand to lose both of us." He started to push against the crush of the frantic crowd towards the woman's voice.

"Robert!" Charles repeated in a predictable beat until his comrade turned to the sound of his name. "Take this!"

Helen's pride swelled as she watched Charles undo the ties of his life jacket, the very one his mother had commissioned for him, complete with "Sloane" embroidered on the front. Before Robert could object to this unbidden gift, Charles had tossed the jacket in his direction, over the heads of others. Robert caught the garment with the ease of catching a ball lofted into the air. Their old boyhood games had trained them well for this single event.

Robert called out to Charles. "I hope I see you soon, but if this is it, take care of Gertie, will you, Charlie? And my boy. Tell her, I love her."

Water splashed onto Charles as Robert once more repeated himself, "Take care of Gertie and Robbie" He looked away briefly and then leveled a truth he had been caring the entire trip. "He's really your child, you know. He's my son, but he's your child."

Helen tasted salt from her tears. She understood now why this vision had always cut off when it did. Fate didn't want her to know about Charles' illegitimate son. He had confessed his tryst with Gertie a long time ago. Helen wouldn't judge, as she, herself, was no innocent. They had discussed their weaknesses and promised each other certain latitudes. But he hadn't suspected a child or he would have told her. There was no mistaking the look of unexpected discovery crawling across Charles' otherwise disheveled appearance. In the midst of terrible crisis, Charles was blindsided by unexpected insight.

"What?" Charles spoke in a whisper. Helen's powers were now so attuned to her fiancé's expressions that only she heard them. Charles reflected long enough that he missed his chance to watch Robert's heroic exit. The stampede to the lifeboat absorbed him and he boarded it in a stupor.

Helen watched as his lifeboat stop periodically to pull folks from the cold waters into the vessel. Charles, who never joined the church, whose own grandmother referred to him as a 'heathen', had closed his eyes as he worked his oar. Helen thought he looked to be in deep prayer.

* * *

"And God answered my prayer," Miss Marin reported as she lifted up her foot to show off her new-to-her boots. Mrs. Lynde stared at those shoes, thinking she'd seen them before. But the petite girl continued on, with a clear, high pitched voice. "Our Lord says, 'Ask, and it shall be given you; seek, and ye shall find, knock, and it shall be opened unto you.' That's Matthew 7:7. If we all ask God to help us, He shall. We just need to have faith in the good he brings to each of us."

Miss Marin checked her father. He was standing next to her before the packed with people parlor room at Fred Wright's. Mr. Marin kindly smiled at his daughter as he pressed a cloth to the beads of sweat accumulating along his hairline. Miss Marin's eyes grew wide as recognized her father illness starting to present itself.

"Papa," she whispered, saying only to him. "You're not feeling well. Go get safe."

"I'm good, Pen," he whispered. Again, using his cloth on his forehead.

Mr. Wright and Mr. Blythe came forward now, they too saw Mr. Marin struggling against a forthcoming seizure. The wild look of concern Miss Marin had delivered the rest of the audience confirmed it.

"Hank," John said, "You need some fresh air, don't you?" He wrapped his arm around the failing man and supported his movements away.

Mr. Wright continued on with his prayer service. "Thank you, Miss Marin, for your testimony of faith," Preacher Fred said. "I understand you have memorized many parts of the Bible. Perhaps you can recite Hebrews, Chapter 11?"

"Yes Sir, The Faith Chapter"

Miss Marin started to speak the forty verses, slow and clear, and with one golden brown eye, she saw the Avonlea ladies reading along in their Bibles; and with her other eye, she watched Preacher Fred join Mr. Blythe in leading her father to the back of the room. She had this passage memorized thoroughly, it was one of her parent's favorite, and once upon a time, they used to repeat the verses together. She always had the sensation of being closer to God, and to her Mama, speaking these lines.

Miss Marin stopped talking as she heard what sounded like a yelp and a crash and she knew her Papa was on the floor again overcome with shakes. The crowd turned around to see Mr. Marin convulsing on the floor. Mr. Blythe and Mr. Wright were doing their best to keep him from striking himself involuntarily.

If it had been the first time she had seen her father overcome with such terrible tremors, she might have run to his side, but she had seen it many times, and she knew he preferred her to turn to the Lord when he was sick. There was little she could do to help him, other than offer pleas to heaven.

"Please, pray with me," Miss Marin interrupted her speech. "Please pray that Papa will get better."

Mrs. Blythe called the women to the front of the parlor. "Ladies, we've prayed hard tonight for God to bring us back Charlie Sloane and Robert Wright. Surely we can offer more, as Sister Marin implores."

Miss Marin looked around her now. The kindly face of Margo, her black neighbor lady, was next to Mrs. Blythe. One of Davy's guardians, the talkative one, was on Margo's the other side.

"Heavenly Father-" the talkative one started. "We thank you for bringing us together and we ask for the Holy Spirit's healing power for Mr. Marin. Amen."

"Humm-um!" Margo said. "Sweet Jesus—give us hope and light our moments of darkness. Lift this child up high on your shoulder. Shelter her through the storm. We ask and ye promise to give. I ask for all these fine white ladies, that their children be restored to them. May heaven resound my cries! And I thank you for your tokens of faithfulness. The girl's shoes. You are our great provider. We rely on your providence. Amen."

"Amen," the women said in unison.

"I don't know how to pray like this," the smaller voice of Mrs. Sloane said. Her good friend Mrs. Blythe encouraged her anyway, "But Lord, I need my son, my Charlie! Please bring him back to me. And help Robert too. And that poor sick man."

The women huddled in a circle and prevented Miss Marin from seeing the status of her father. She knew her father's attacks well enough to know that they didn't last long, and she thought that it might be over. She bowed her head and spoke her 'Amens' as the prayers were offered until she felt the hand of Mrs. Wright on her shoulder.

"Darling—your Papa is asking to see you."

"He's better?"

"Yes—he's recovering. Fred and Mr. Fletcher moved him into our guest room for the moment."

Miss Marin let Mrs. Diana Wright hold her hand as she was led away and into the fancy guest room. Mrs. Wright was kind but Miss Marin couldn't help the covetousness that overcame her as she sat next to her father on the plump bed. This was the spare room and it was the lap of luxury in her eyes. Mrs. Wright probably never had to pray for second-hand shoes. Realizing her sin, she cowered next to her father, who was the perfect example of faith.

"Papa, I thought you were going to get better."

"Honey. My sweet Li'l Cent. My Penny," Mr. Marin took her hand. "Looks like I'm not getting better, am I?"

Miss Marin sniffed, "No, but you just need the right doctor to fix you. I didn't like Dr. Spencer that much."

"Child—no doctor can fix me. I've been suffering the shakes for most of my adult life. I don't know why they've grown worse."

"Maybe Mr. Blythe's son can help? He's in medical school and he's a witch. A healer."

"And how do you know about Mr. Blythe's son?" Mr. Marin asked of his daughter. "Did his parents tell you." Mr. Marin smiled as he joked and Miss Marin giggled in return. It was common knowledge among them who couldn't stop talking.

She shook her head 'no'.

"Well then, you can't impose. We must have faith that Mr. Blythe will ask his son to help and also, keep in mind that there's a reason in all this. God is kind and wise and we're not to know His ways, but simply trust."

"But we help Mr. Blythe all the time with our..."

But Mr. Marin shushed her with a finger to his lip. "Don't talk about it, remember. Only people that know us and love us. I love you, Li'l Cent."

"I love you too, Papa," Miss Marin said as her head fell onto his chest. "Please don't leave me like Mama did."

Mr. Marin lifted his arm and stroked her back, reassuring her with his touch.

* * *

Miss Katherine Brooke entered Principal Anne Shirley's office with a small collection of papers under her arm. Anne could tell from Miss Brooke's wardrobe selection that it was Friday. The pragmatic woman made the most of her small but now fashionably tailored wardrobe by assigning outfits to particular days of the week. The corduroy, dark brown skirt and matching bodice was worn on Fridays. She normally paired the ensemble with her cream blouse, but today she opted for a wine colored blouse with a high collar and tangle of lace at the throat.

"Have you seen today's paper?" Katherine almost managed to whisper.

Anne smiled faintly thinking there was a hint of Mrs. Lynde in Katherine's inflection. Her statement had a certain spring in it that might launch the two of them further into more conversation.

"No, I haven't."

"Well, you better look at this then." Katherine handed over a copy of the _Summerside Star_. The headline: _**Ocean**_ _ **Cl**_ _ **aims PEI Passenger**_ _ **S**_ _ **hip**_ **.**

Anne had to sit down to read the rest. Her pale forehead squished into lines as her eyebrows gradually rose. Katherine made no remarks and allowed the story to penetrate Anne.

The Ocean Island Passenger and Cargo Ship Company, based out of Charlottetown, finally declared a nautical disaster in the loss of their screw-ship steamer, the _Princess Edwina_. The cause of the shipwreck was not known. A few lifeboats with survivors were picked up by a cargo ship headed to London. The article continued on the next page, where a passenger list was published. Those with a star next to their name were known survivors: Those with a cross next to their names were known casualties.

"Anne—Charles Sloane is gone." Katherine pointed to another article, printed as an inset to the larger one. _**Sloane**_ _ **S**_ _ **aves**_ _ **T**_ _ **wo**_ _ **L**_ _ **ives**_ was its lead.

"Oh goodness!" Anne exclaimed. "This says Charlie gave up his life-jacket to a pregnant woman and helped her swim to a lifeboat, but then, he himself. . ." Anne felt a tear form and she found her hankie in her breast pocket. "Katherine, I can't believe it." She returned to her attention to the newspaper looking for more heroics. She felt quite exhausted from her variety of emotions overtaking her.

"There's no report on Robert," Katherine added. "But my guess is there is more news to come."

"I hope you're right." Anne shook her head in disbelief, "Robert's a few years older than me and I never got to know him like his brother Fred. Charlie Sloane, I knew much better. He was sweet on me at one point, and annoyingly self-serving at times, but still, I would never wish this on him. I'm glad he died so gallantly. I don't think I could have ever imagined him being so brave."

"Anne, I wasn't planning on traveling this weekend, but I'm going to head to Carmody tonight, check up on Helen."

"I think I'll go home too," Anne brushed her eyes once more, "Thank you for telling me, Katherine. I suppose the Aunties and Rebecca Dew saw this headline and decided to hide it from me. They probably didn't want to ruin my day." Anne carefully reassembled the paper and handed it back to her vice principal. Katherine took it but stayed in front of Anne's desk, immobile. Her eyes were betraying a glimmer of a smile. She had other news.

"Is there something else?"

But no sooner did she say that than Anne instantly knew 'what else' was as she recognized the sparkle of accomplishment beaming from Katherine. Anne wrote a letter of recommendation on Katherine's behalf to Redmond's Business School. Anne unloosened her smile so that she felt the corners of her mouth hook into shallow of her checks. Katherine likewise responded.

"I know it's in poor taste right now to show my glee with this other grim news, but. . . " Katherine's cheeks pinked and she admitted. "I've been accepted to the business school and last night I mailed my letter of resignation to the board."

"Katherine Brooke!" Anne jumped to her feet in happy acknowledgment. "Your good news does help wash this bitter pill of disaster," Anne circled around her desk so she might give Katherine a quick, congratulatory hug. "I'm so happy for you! You're starting to live the life you've always wanted now and not just existing day to day."

"Well, it will be hard to tell Helen all this, but, overall, I think it's for the best, leaving teaching and learning something new and exciting, like typing and shorthand!"

"Of course it is!" Anne rubbed her back in support. "And you said you had no bends in the road."

* * *

Mrs. Lynde doubted her decision to visit Helen Blythe after Davy dropped her off in Carmody in front of Helen's Hems. Davy, being in a hurry, took off for his errand as soon as she had disembarked from the buggy. Rachel had tried to tell him to wait first but he wasn't listening. Davy existed in a state of distraction anymore. "Self-absorbed," Rachel had complained to Marilla. Now she was stranded on the porch of the 'closed for the day' dressmaker's shoppe without a place to retreat.

Instinctively, when circumstances befuddled her, Rachel put her hands on her hips and pouted. Her own mother, try as she did, could never break her of that particular habit. She peered into the much larger picture window to see if there were any employees milling about. The store simply was not operating that day. Given the news that the co-owner, Charlie Sloane, had died, that might have been a prudent decision on Helen's part.

Rachel retreated down the few steps from the porch and back to the sidewalk lining the edge of the street. She had a few coins with her and Helen's shoppe was centrally located and near everything. Rachel thought she might go get herself a cup of tea at the train station's ladies' waiting room. At least she'd be safe there. She knew the station master, Mr. Garvey, well enough. But the tea they served was a cousin to sludge so her feet were not quick to go.

Instead, she walked into the alley and found the side entrance for Helen's Hems. Taking a chance, she knocked, hoping that Miss Blythe would appear.

The door opened just a tad and a feeble, "Hello?" came out.

"It's me!" Rachel announced, "Mrs. Lynde. Would you please let me in?"

Mrs. Lynde's voice sounded like a bugle in Helen's ear, but, with unexpected obedience, and knowing that she needed some help, she allowed Mrs. Lynde to pass through her door and into her apartment.

It was past noon and Helen was still in her bedclothes, barely able to function. Helen backtracked from the door and the gleaming sunlight, protecting her eyes, as she attempted to make a shadowy dusk with her hands. She trembled from her activity. Her knees bowed to the floor as Helen marginally controlled her shaking collapse.

"Helen Blythe," Rachel voiced with great concern. "What are you doing up if you're feeling so poorly." Rachel was bending low over Helen, trying to reassure the younger woman as she quivered.

"I need help," Helen said, "`I don't want to be alone. I've been resting near this door hoping someone, anyone would come."

"I heard you get sick headaches," Mrs. Lynde divulged. "Just stay right where you are and I'll get you a heavy blanket to block out the light. And you'll feel better under its weight."

Helen managed to point to the couch. One of Mrs. Sloane's log-cabin quilts was hanging on the back of it. Rachel had it over Helen in a flash. "You need to see Dr. Blair. He can give you a powder."

"I have seen him. Dr. Blair gave me a few packets to hold me over until my next visit, but I'm out now. I'm in no condition to call."

Rachel opened her drawstring purse. "I think I have one on me, actually. Marilla gets like this too sometimes. I keep one with me just in case we're stuck somewhere and she's overcome with a migraine. Will you take it with warm or cold water?"

"It doesn't matter. It's probably too late. I might not be able to keep it down."

"You'll have to sip it super slow then," Rachel said undeterred.

Mrs. Lynde was first and foremost, a mother, and couldn't help but minister to Helen over the worst of her headache. She felt useful and productive and had quite forgotten the reason for her call. Now that Helen was a little more steady, Rachel helped her move from the floor and to the couch. Helen sat with her legs perched out in front of her on the ottoman. As Helen rested with a bit of dry toast and more water, Mrs. Lynde closed all the drapes throughout the entire house, making it dark as possible. She even placed the accent pillows against the threshold of the front door to block off any light emitting from underneath.

"Thank you, Mrs. Lynde," Helen said. "I feel a million times better."

"Oh, you can call me Rachel," Mrs. Lynde returned instead. "And I'm glad I could help you—that's what. I came here today to check on you, see if the Ladies Aid could do you any good. What, with Charlie Sloane gone. He leaves quite the hole in Avonlea. He was a character, that's true and certain. But I don't suppose you want to talk about it, I'm guessing that's the source of your headache."

Helen felt two tears slip from her eyes. "I need to talk with Mrs. Sloane about Charles."

"She knows, Hon! Everyone in Avonlea does."

Helen sniffed and shook her head in disagreement. Through pursed lips, she mumbled, "No, she doesn't. No one knows what I do." Helen put her teacup of water down on its saucer. "Charles Sloane is alive. You see..." Helen forced her intense blue eyes onto Mrs. Lynde's. "You do know about me, don't you?"

"Helen Blythe, everyone knows about your seeing powers. I'm not stupid. I even know about Gilbert's healing powers, but I can't admit that to him. Gilbert doesn't know I know, or, at least I don't think he knows I know." Now Rachel's head was starting to smart. "It's all sort of immaterial at this point."

"In a vision, I saw Charles take off his life jacket—the one with his family logo on it. He gave it to Robert Wright. Robert must have given it to the woman that was rescued."

"You don't say," Mrs. Lynde heart lurched in her chest. "That would mean. Oh! Poor Robert!" She then thought next of Gertie Wright, his wife, and the insufferably cute child that called her 'Ma!'.

"I want to talk to Charles' mother and tell her that her son didn't drown, among other things. I was sort of hoping it was Mother Sloane at the door."

"Sorry! It's just me."

Helen chuckled. "It's quite all right. Can I talk to you about my vision? My _entire_ vision?"

"Did you see Robert drown, Hon?"

"No," Helen answered truthfully. She nervously looked around plucking up the courage to tell her new friend the insight that plagued her.

"Robert told Charles to take care of Gertie and the boy," Helen waited for a response. Surprisingly, none came from Rachel. "The boy, Robbie, is actually Charles' son. I heard Robert tell Charles that. And Charles didn't know. I could tell by his reaction. It was a complete surprise."

Mrs. Lynde picked up Helen's napkin and toast crusts. "Do you want more water?"

"You don't seem surprised with this revelation that's been weighing on me. That's what's making my head hurt."

"Well, it's not the first time I've heard such speculations. Mr. Felder thought so too." When Rachel referred to their mutual friend, Helen's face colored. "You're friends with him too, aren't you?"

"A little."

"Or a lot. He writes me every once and while. He's more regular about it than my sons," Rachel explained. "You know, we speak the same language, he and I. He doesn't say exactly, but, I can put two and two together. Why'd you say 'no' to him and then up and tell Charlie 'yes'. That's the great mystery to me. Not the parentage of Robbie Wright."

Helen placed her hand on her head and Mrs. Lynde felt horrid for pressing when Helen was recovering from such a terrible headache.

"You don't have to answer me," Mrs. Lynde continued now apologetically. "I forgot myself there with this comradery we've discovered, such that it is."

"No, it's fine. I've been asked this before, just not so bluntly. You see, Charles—he convinced me that all the love he was capable of giving, would be mine. That would never be true with Gene. Even if he does love me more, he's divided." Helen stirred on the sofa, swinging her legs round to the free seats and turning the furniture piece into a lounge. "Gene needs someone that can handle his dual interests. I don't think I could tolerate that. There were a few other reasons, but, that's my best rationale."

"Yes, I can see your point there. May I ask you something else, Miss Blythe." Mrs. Lynde refreshed Helen's water as she spoke. "I admit, I have no right to ask you this and I don't want to embarrass you, dear. Trust me, I understand you better than you know, but, sometimes I hear things and I don't know what to think. I know you and Katherine Brooke to be nice, respectable ladies."

Helen thought she knew what Mrs. Lynde's question might be. With no little trepidation, Helen nodded that Rachel could proceed with care.

"All other things being equal, who would you marry, if you must."

Helen smirked. "It wouldn't be Charles Sloane or Eugene Felder or any other man."

Now Rachel flushed. "You think that's supposed to shock me," Her brown eyes actually kind. "I may know a thing or two about liking women over men. My daughter Constance was like that for instance. Although her reasons to marry seemed practical at the time, her marriage was miserable and drove her to suicide. And I regret not supporting her better, so to you, I'll tell you what I wish I told Connie so many years ago. Don't marry because you feel you have to. Financial security is not enough of a reason. Do it because you love them and they love you."

* * *

"Anne, I didn't see it happen, but boy, I heard about it." Dora softly spoke to Anne, as a younger sister to an older sister would. They were in Anne's Green Gable's bedroom. "When the ladies came into the nursery to pick up their babies, they talked about how Mr. Marin had a seizure."

"Isn't Mr. Marin the hired man of Mr. Blythe?"

"Yes," Dora affirmed. "Mr. Marin's daughter was there too. She's colored you know."

Anne took her hairbrush from the vanity table now that her hair was free of restraining hairpins. Her red tresses remained crimped from the kink of the braid. The angles soften as she passed her bristle brush through her auburn waves.

"She's mulatto, half black and half white."

"Anne—I get the feeling that Davy really likes her."

"What makes you say that."

"Well—he's my twin, isn't he? Sometimes I just..know. Plus, he asked me if he could give her my old shoes." Dora rolled her eyes. "He left them by the door of her home when he knew they were out. He blushed a thousand shades of red when asking me. In the old days, he'd just take them. He then made me promise never to let her know it was him."

Anne blinked. Was her Davy-boy really turning into such a thoughtful fellow? "Let's say Davy does like her, it's not unheard of. It's challenging for us because we've been taught to think in terms of color, but really, there's no difference between the races, black or white, or aboriginal or Asian."

"Ralph thinks it's disgraceful," Dora frowned. "He's passed Davy and Miss Marin on the road a couple of times. Davy escorts her home to New Halifax. But I tell Ralph since Miss Marin showed up, Davy's a lot less critical of us. I think I like her if it's making Davy stop telling me who I can and cannot be friends with. Davy doesn't have a very high opinion of Ralph."

"Now Dora, Davy loves you and he really worries about you. And when he looks at you, he says you look like your mother, Mary."

"Really, that's funny, as sometimes I see her in Davy, but not so much anymore. His face is changing. His throat has an Adam's apple now."

"You two aren't children anymore. Speaking of which, did you improve your diaper count last night. Are you closer to becoming Mrs. Ralph Andrews."

Dora nodded as she picked at her fingernails. "I'm at two-hundred and twenty-three now. It was interesting, changing diapers at the prayer service."

"Why do you say that."

"I met a girl my age from New Halifax, only, she was really dark, both of her parents are escaped slaves," Dora reflected, "She's a mama and was nursing a baby when I arrived. And that's what she does for a living, she's a wet nurse. She thought I was crazy when I told her I couldn't wait to get hitched. She really had a lot to say on the topic."

"Well, I think those are things Marilla wants you to consider in your decision to marry so young. There's a downside too, it's not all rosy. Some women die in childbirth, you do know that."

"Yes, I know."

"So, you have to be sure that you're willing to put your life on the line for your husband. Is that how you feel about Ralph?"

Her face grew quite pale, "I think so."

"That's how I feel about Gilbert and I know so. And Gilbert would die for me, that's how much we love each other." Anne answered as she touched her circle of pearls.

* * *

Eugene sat crossed-legged on his bed as Gilbert paced the floor, running down the events of the night before. It had taken a complete twenty-four hours for Gilbert to unwind enough to tell Eugene what had happened. The file of miracles existed, but, Gilbert never read it. Instead, Gilbert decided to heal Andrew Tomgallon from a disease that would have certainly killed him. And he did it under the observant eyes of the Dean himself!

"Are you crazy?" Eugene pummeled to his friend. "Gilbert—that was beyond reckless! You could have healed him when he was sleeping, you fool! And you wouldn't be in this mess."

"I might have scared him. How would you feel if you were a small boy, sick and suddenly there was a strange man over you."

"You cured me in my sleep."

"And it still didn't stop you from knowing."

"That's not my point!" Eugene pale eyes turned to an azure blue. He stuck out his hand. "That's it. Hand over your powers. You have no idea what you're doing."

Gilbert looked at Eugene, holding his hand out. Like _that_ was going to work.

"Gene—it's not easy. I never asked for powers." Gilbert rubbed his face, leaving his hand cupped over his mouth for a moment. "But, you'd probably make a much better witch than me anyway."

Gilbert retreated to his side of the room, toeing off his shoes and gathering his bedclothes. He ignored Gene's conciliatory comments and changed.

"Gil," Eugene's voice was soft. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt your feelings. I'd make a terrible witch. I wouldn't be able to stay honest. Despite everything else—you're honest and not abusing the privilege. It's really one of the marvelous things about you."

Gilbert pulled his covers back and entered his warm bed. "I'm just a man like you are. If I'm so honest, why is it I can't stop wishing Tomgallon would just go away and never come back."

 **to be continued**


	22. Disasters (Part 3)

Timeline - _Anne of Windy Poplars, The Second Year_ \- March (Anne's birthday).  
Allow me the latitude to connect this narrative to the of chapter 11, where Anne has a cold, but officially, that chapter is about April or so.

* * *

 **Chapter 22:** **Disasters (Part 3)**

John Blythe and Hank Marin stood at the other end of the field waiting for Davy Keith to come with the wagon. They had spent the entire morning and afternoon clearing out the remains of last year's crops. Most of the material could be used for kindling. The few pieces of branch found might be another carving project of John's. In the winter he often found himself whittling small figurines, usually making animals but sometimes people. It was something he learned as a young man and he honed his craft when Gilbert was small. Somewhere in the house was a memory chest of Gilbert's baby things. John hoped that one day he could go up to the attic and get all those carvings. The grandchildren would need something to play with—and, possibly, levitate.

The two men were impatient to be done for the day. They paced the furrows as they waited. Davy forgot his errand and they started walking towards the stable. They were still a ways off when the figure of a young lady with a slat bonnet exited the building. She was too far away to call out to, but it was unmistakable Miss Marin and Davy had encountered each other in the barn and that was probably what caused Davy to lag.

Hank turned to his employer and huffed, "You want me to say something to her?"

"Nope," Mr. Blythe answered with purpose. "Young Mr. Keith needs to get his head in the game. I'll talk with him. It's not easy being fourteen, is it?"

"Go easy on him," Hank remembered his adolescent days well enough on Cuba. He had met Miss Marin's mother by that time. She was a servant in his father's household. "It can be a confusing time, not a boy, not quite a man. Figuring things out."

Davy Keith came out of the barn leading Rival to the wagon. He saw the lean figures of two men approaching and hastened his movements to hitch the horse.

"I'm sorry," Davy excused himself as he held the strap connected to Rival's bridle. "I know you've been waiting, but, Miss Marin was showing me Henrietta's piglets and the pigs got out. Did you know that each one has a name? All five of them. I don't know if I can look at bacon again. I forgot my reason for being in the stable until just now."

Mr. Blythe eyed Mr. Marin. _So, that explains_ _it_ _._ He chuckled, "It's best not to name your food. You know better than that."

Hank jumped in, "Remember, God gave us dominion over the creatures of the Earth. When Adam named all the animals, he was exercising his superior rights. Animals know what's what. It's only cruel if we make it so. Enjoy your bacon, Davy. It's fine. It's part of the circle of life."

"Yes, sir!" Davy answered trying not to think of how Miss Marin doted over the runt, Rosy. Henrietta got a scolding from Miss Marin about not letting her littlest nurse. The sow gave up and let the tiny one approach. Henrietta's brown eyes closed as all the piglets came to her belly for nourishment. The sucking and grunting noises were adorably gross. Davy had never thought something like that beautiful, but the way Miss Marin seemed to monitor the litter was touching.

Mr. Marin wandered off towards the house to find his daughter, leaving Mr. Blythe and Davy in conversation. The next thing Davy registered was the weight of John's hand on his shoulder, directing him to walk away from the horse. Davy grew suspicious for Mr. Blythe was slow to speak.

"I am sorry I got behind," Davy assumed he was in trouble and began apologies.

"Don't worry yourself about being late today, young man." Mr. Blythe stooped a little, in a way that reminded Davy strongly of Gilbert. "I want you to know you can ask me questions if you have them."

Davy tried not to groan. It was one of those talks the men of Avonlea were keen on having with him. Davy felt he was getting very good at not being embarrassed with these topics about changing voices and hair growth. Although, he had a hunch that Mr. Blythe was more direct than the average man.

"I don't have any questions, Mr. Blythe."

"I know—you know it all, don't you."

"I think so. It's not that big of a deal."

Mr. Blythe rubbed his chin. "Well, I just want you to know you can talk to me. Even if you decide you rather not work for me, you can always come to me if you need to. I know you're helping me because Gil asked you to."

"No, I'm learning a lot about farming."

John Blythe laughed heartily. "We haven't even planted the seed yet. And speaking of seed, Davy, there's a timing in all things, especially, when it comes to. . . " Even Mr. Blythe hedged his thoughts and blushed. "Do you understand me? Don't be in a hurry to get to planting time. Slow down."

Davy felt his eyebrows connect as he tried to think through Mr. Blythe's hint. He eventually gave up and shook his head, saying 'no'.

"You're fourteen, right?"

Davy nodded, feeling as if Gilbert's dad was addressing a fault he had. He held his breath as he waited for his sentence.

"Stop touching yourself, Davy. It's not planting time yet, is it?"

Davy panicked and was afflicted with sudden immobilization. _Surely, Mr. Blythe didn't mean…! But, h_ _ow could he know?_ He wanted to say, "I don't know what you're talking about." Davy knew the older man would see right through him.

"Davy, breathe. I know what young men do, having been one and raised one. It's not evil, unlike what the minister might suggest, but just, give yourself a break once and a while. And remember, there's a timing in everything. I need you to pay attention. Stop being so distracted by the pretty girl."

Davy again nodded, his eyes wide as saucers. Davy's rapid heartbeat slowed. He looked away not sure if he had really lived through the scene.

"Why don't you head home for the day. I'll take the Marins back to New Halifax after we're done."

John slapped Davy's back as he strode off towards the wagon. Rival was waiting patiently there. Mr. Blythe stepped up to the driver's seat and urged the horse, leaving Davy standing nonplussed.

* * *

 _Dear Gilbert,_

 _I've got a question I don't want to ask your father, not that he doesn't like to talk. Trust me! I understand you a lot better now that know your Dad. He's a jolly guy, but boy, he does like to chat and he doesn't seem to care about what either. Anyway, I thought I would write you because I know you can answer a question without asking why it's being asked. Here it is. Milty told me the other day that the white race is smarter, faster and better than any colored race and can't see how this is the case. While it's true Miss Marin can barely read (I've been trying to help her) I reminded Milty of the time he got his head caught in the banister and they had to saw him out. Anyway, I just wanted to know if there's anything I should be aware of, and as you're gonna be a doctor, I'd figure you would._

 _Sincerely,_

 _Davy Keith_

 _P.S. Avonlea is getting the telephone._

 _P.P.S. You should come and do that thing only you can do for Mr. Marin. He's sick a lot._

* * *

 _Dear Gilbert,_

 _Son—I just got done visiting with Helen. I don't care what you've read in the papers, Charlie Sloane is alive but no one believes her, certainly not their bankers. They are knocking at her door to liquidate her business to repay the loans Charlie secured, and, of course, her sewing shoppe isn't in the position to pay it all back. Helen is going to lose everything. Mother and I plan to invite her back here to stay if that happens. I don't know if you have any rich friends that may want to invest in Helen's business to reassure her creditors, but Helen needs cash fast._

 _But in other news, your mother and I have a wonderful distraction going on here on the farm. Davy's very taken with Miss Marin. And she, in turn, seems to like him. I don't know if anything serious will come from this but they do have something of a start. It gives me the biggest grin watching those two._

 _I'm glad they feel safe here to be themselves as they figure it out. From what I can tell Davy's getting grief at school for noticing a colored girl, but he's not talking with me for some reason._

 _We need you to heal Mr. Marin though—he's suffering badly with epilepsy._

 _Love,_

 _Dad_

* * *

Gilbert read and re-read the two letters Tuesday morning in the privacy of his room. Eugene left before the sunrise as he had an early appointment with the Dean's office. His application for early graduation was moving forward. Gilbert was not a morning person but managed to get up without the routine of his roommate prodding him. Gilbert groomed and laid out his blue jacket and tan spats. He had a few minutes to kill before he needed to leave. He would catch-up with Eugene in class where he'd then ask Eugene if he wanted to invest in Helen's business.

Gilbert lazed about the peaceful room and the sunrays lit the floating flakes of dust. He stretched out his long limbs on his bed holding the recent correspondence in his hand. He once more read the letters and grinned. His smiled shoved off the very recent worries Tomgallon had plastered over his face. _Davy_ _Keith_ _was in love._ Or as close to it as a fourteen-year-old could get. Gilbert had been there himself a long, _long_ time ago. He was going to have a hard time not pretending he didn't know a thing about Davy's distraction his next trip back home.

The door swung open with great velocity. Gilbert jolted up in response to the momentum entering the room with Eugene. His quiet morning was ruined. There Eugene was in the entryway, his hands on his hips and his jaw clenched. He caught Gilbert's "Where's the fire?" expression and Eugene scratched the bald patch on his head before telling Gilbert, "You won't believe it."

"They're not going to let you graduate early?" Gilbert folded his letters away and reached for his spats. They were coming back in fashion and Gilbert was fond of the way they made his legs longer and more streamlined. It had the added benefit of protecting his shoes from spring mud.

Eugene made startling, choking sound. "They better—but that's not it."

"What is it then?"

"Gil, hold on to your handlebar mustache," Eugene then looked away and back to him, which only served to add a bit of drama to the news. He archly informed, "Dean Tomgallon died last night."

"What?"

"He died! Heart attack. Died in his wife's arms."

Gilbert could scarcely breathe.

Conditioned since a young boy, Gilbert automatically felt sorrow over the news. And for a few seconds, his sympathies for Tomgallon's widow and children dominated his reaction, but then he felt something of a smile creep across his face. Not a big one, but he was experiencing a type of thanksgiving. And Gilbert couldn't help it as the impact of the news transformed his worry into relief. He had escaped from a tremendous pickle of a situation and he was not going to miss the sourness of it. He had been wishing for it to all go away.

Eugene's eyebrows were still high on his crown. He continued to give Gilbert the eye.

Gilbert tried to compose himself, but in doing so, he slipped and smiled more broadly. "I know, I know. I'm a terrible person to smile, but this is such a relief."

Eugene was turning quite pale. "Gil—you wished it would all go away. You— _a witch_ —wished for it to go away."

Gilbert paled quickly. "I did, didn't I?" He definitely had entertained some uncharitable thoughts toward the man lately. "But you don't think that I," Gilbert saw Eugene nod slowly. "Oh, Gene—aren't you always saying I don't have control. I think something like that would take a focus completely foreign to me."

"Yes, I am considering that, but Gil, you discover your abilities on accident, because your thoughts get _out_ of control. When you said that you wished Tomgallon would go away the other night, I know that you didn't truly mean it. I know it was something you just said in frustration, but I still wonder. How sure you can be sure that you didn't."

"Gene, I have to focus. Even if I do it poorly, there has to be an intention there, and I," Gilbert hedged now, doubting himself, but rebounding with, "My gut reaction says I didn't. I know when my power has gone out of me, and I don't have that sensation."

"I suppose if you had done it, you would have known of Tomgallon's passing before I did. You would have known last night."

"Right," Gilbert said with great vocal conviction. Internally though his doubt grew. He was the most powerful witch in his family and the most powerful witch Tomgallon had ever claimed to study.

Eugene's concerns were now abated. He sighed deeply and handed Gilbert his coat. They had to walk across the courtyard to their class.

"Maybe it was the curse that did it. Maybe it wasn't me at all?" Gilbert suggested along the way.

"Professor Dr. Strickland would say that Dean Tomgallon had it comin', he was almost morbidly obese and smoked."

Eugene and Gilbert went through other scenarios for Dean Tomgallon's sudden death. Both of them ignored the nagging sensation that things happened just too conveniently.

* * *

Anne Shirley struggled to sleep. Slumber was a treasure for her to discover. There were a number of concerns blocking her path to rest. Gilbert was acting oddly around her. He was using his powers of bi-location a lot more to check in with her. His protective nature seemed to be in overdrive as was his evasiveness to her questions. As wonderful as it was to see him every night and give him a proper kiss, Anne knew Gilbert had some interior worry that he wasn't sharing. Quite frankly, it was vexing her.

And then there was the situation with Helen. Katherine and Anne had come back to Avonlea the last few weekends since the news of the _Princess Edwina's_ sinking. Helen kept insisting that Charlie Sloane was alive and privately, to those she trusted most, she told them that she thought it was possible that Robert Wright had died. Anne believed Helen's insight as it fit the newspaper stories. The rescued woman reported her rescuer had drowned. According to Helen, that rescuer was Robert Wright.

Anne weaved the end of her yellow bed sheet through her fingers as her forehead creased into rows. She liked the slick feel of the fabric gliding between the spaces of her hand. She found it comforting as her mind pondered over things. Just thinking about Helen's vision made her heart heavy. She wanted to tell Diana but Helen had asked her not to tell the Wright's. It was one thing insisting to everyone that Charlie Sloane was alive, but to say that someone had died was cruel and unfeeling. Helen knew better and chose to stay out of that fray. If Helen said "No, don't tell them" Anne felt she would have to honor that. It was her powers after all.

There were a lot of pieces to Helen's vision and no one knew how it would all settle. Would Charlie ever come home or make contact? Would Robert? And was Charlie really the father of Robert's child?

Anne slipped back into the last conversation she had with Gilbert. The night before when they cuddled Anne asked his thoughts on Helen's vision. If Robert was gone, what of Gertie and their boy? Was it true about Charlie being the father? Gilbert then admitted he had heard the conjecture a long time ago and agreed Eugene was right about the boy being premature. That certainly meant the boy was not Robert's. "In fact," Gilbert informed her. "I didn't realize it then, but Dr. Spencer suspected Robbie was early as well. He had some questions about the delivery that really only fit that supposition."

"And you said nothing about it?"

"I didn't know for certain. I wondered if Charlie might have been the father, for he and Gertie have been friendly with each other before. It wasn't that far of a stretch. It was one of the reasons why I didn't want Charlie to court Helen." Gilbert's hazel eyes were fixed on Anne's. "I said nothing. I'm sorry I didn't share that with you. It's quite a big accusation and to be wrong..."

"That would have been detrimental," Anne repeated aloud, snapping out of the memory. She didn't know why she spoke it. There was no one else to hear her. Yet her thoughts were giving her necessary clues to Gilbert's current evasiveness.

Gilbert wanted to be sure and avoided speculations. Whatever was making him anxious, Anne was sure that if she confronted him about it, it would cause them to quarrel. Gilbert needed a chance to figure things out on his own, and Anne told herself that he would come to her when he was ready.

* * *

"Anne?" Davy Keith sounded quite surprised when she entered the barn. "What are you doing up?"

Anne pushed back a lock of vivid red hair and tucked it behind her ear. She had put on an old dress and shoes, deciding that sleep would never come. Rather than mill inside the house making noise she ventured off to the barn. When she was younger she liked to climb up into the hayloft and watch the sunrise from the east facing window. You could see the ocean from that vantage point. The fiery orb often glowed colors of purple and magenta over the blue waters at daybreak.

"I might ask the same thing of you, Davy," Anne matched his surprised inflection perfectly. "Are you having a hard time sleeping?"

"I wouldn't say that, 'xactly," Davy crossed the barn floor and grabbed a rake. "Sometimes I do my best thinking in the middle of a mindless chore. And I need an early start, I'll be over at the Blythes the rest of the day."

Anne leaned against the wall and watched a flurry of hay come out of the stall as Bossy chewed her cud. Davy was hurrying through his task. She wished he'd slow down.

"Are those books I brought you working out?" Anne asked. "I'm still looking for a good beginning reader for your Miss Marin."

It took a moment for Davy to respond. "I can't figure out why Miss Marin has such a hard time with her letters. She writes things upside down and backwards."

"You're doing a good thing, Davy, helping her read. Maybe you should go to Queens when the time comes and become a teacher. Men teachers are in high demand."

Anne saw Davy's face twitch in disagreement before he said, "I'm not a good teacher, though. Won't ever be."

"Davy-boy," Anne said softly. "I'm sure you're doing fine. Just be nice and answer what questions you can."

"I am nice to Miss Marin."

Anne gave Davy a judging look and even in the dim light of the rising sun, she could see Davy glow rosy red. Davy caught Anne's curiosity and felt self-conscious. He put his tool away before returning to the stall with a stool and milk pail.

"All I'm doing is showing her how to read, Anne," Davy defended himself. His voice was overly dramatic. "She's gotta learn how."

"I know," Anne found herself next to the stall, her arms and upper body leaned on the top slat of the divide. "It's such a kind thing you're doing and I'm impressed. Some people struggle to learn to read. I don't want you to get frustrated. I'll be here all summer and so will Katherine. We'll help you if you want us to."

"No," Davy said, "I mean, thank you, but, I want to figure this out on my own."

"She must be really pretty if you're making so much effort."

"Anne, why did you have to say that?" Davy stammered, "Her looks are fine—for a..a."

"Colored girl?"

Davy sighed, "I barely think of her that way anymore. I was going to say for a poor person."

"Dora told me about the shoes."

Groaning, "Dora's such a blabbermouth anymore." Davy seemed torn now as he sat on the stool before Bossy. He intended to milk the cow but it was Anne milking him. Davy trusted Anne. It had always been so. "It's not a bad thing, is it, for me to like a colored girl? What do you think Marilla would say? She's so prim and set in her ways. She's not going to like it, is she?"

"Oh, I don't know," Anne gave a calculated response. Davy's concern was real. Marilla did not agree with integrating the Avonlea church when Elder Wright proposed it a few months ago. Marilla's generation had been socialized quite differently than the generation coming of age. "I think if you make it clear to her how you feel, she'll listen to you, and do her best to respect your feelings. She loves you, Davy. You've always been able to get your way with her."

Davy laughed there, "Yeah, I know, it drives Dora nuts."

"That goes double for me," Anne now laughed in return. "I broke her in for the two of you. You forget that."

Davy shook his head as he grabbed his bucket of milk and let himself out of the stall. Anne followed him back to the house.

* * *

The red, sandy road approached the incline of the hill by winding its way along its base and spiraling upwards. At the top of the hill, the road leveled out on the plain. Both driver and passenger made comments about the pretty view. They could see the frothy tide glazing the shore by glancing outward and down. A slight adjustment in head position brought the never-ending horizon of ocean and sky to view. And up close in the other direction were bright green pops of budding vegetation pimpling the naked tree limbs. Snow had retreated to the shadowy parts of the landscape and the buggy wheels sloshed through the ruddy slicks. It was Easter time. The end of winter and the beginning of spring and the passenger, Charlie Sloane, was coming home.

His arrival would be unexpected. He did not want a crowd and did not trust his mother to keep quiet about his recovery and movements back home. He was the last of the _Princess Edwina_ survivors to return to Prince Edward Island. He was a reluctant hero, although, there was a time he would have courted the pomp and the attention associated with his actions. He couldn't—and wouldn't—make a show of his survival. Not when he watched other men and women drown. Not when his own friend died in the Atlantic Ocean. Charlie Sloane knew his return home was also an acknowledgment that Robert Wright never would. He didn't want to be the person to bury that last remaining hope.

What would he say to the Wrights when they approached him? _Yes, Robert died bravely._ And, _Oh yes, I just also happen to be Robbie Wright's_ _real_ _father._ Charlie snorted and he felt his protruded eyes roll. Robert was Robbie's parent. He might have fathered the child in one night of stupidity with Gertie but he had no legal claim to the boy. How would he explain to Robert's parents? Robert was gone and now he takes away what they believe to be Robert's child? The potential conversation nauseated him whenever he thought of it.

In Charlie Sloane's book, death just didn't want him that hour. There was hardly any valor in being unattractive to fate. He was lucky, not brave. If nothing else, at least he could admit he wasn't a coward. He felt prepared for his mother's goading clutching that fact.

Charlie retreated back into the buggy's canopy as the road merged into the city's thoroughfare. The vehicular traffic increased and the street congested with pedestrians too. Charlie paid them little notice until he saw a familiar looking form ahead. A woman in a blue dress and black coat walked, carrying a basket.

Charlie called up to the driver, asking him to slow down a tad so he could call out as they approached.

"Helen," Charlie cried, "Helen Blythe—it's so good to see you."

Helen dropped her basket and almost released a jubilant shout. Charlie Sloane shushed her and offered his hand to pull her into the carriage. "Your basket, Love!" Charlie said and Helen rushed to grab it from the street. She did not care it was covered in a red mud as she dropped it on the floor of the chariot.

She happily sat next to him, letting her hand fall on his. His hand flipped over to accept her touch. Helen's cheeks were pink from the rush of excitement and her bright, magnificent blue eyes shined for him. "It's so good to see you, Charles" Helen repeated again. Their fingers intertwined. "I had no idea you were coming home. Charles," she lowered her voice a bit, "My powers are coming back. It started first with things that happened in the past, and now, I can see the world as I once did. Soon, I'll have the future."

Charlie Sloane didn't know how to reply to Helen. Her powers were important to her, this he remembered well, but she had adjusted to life without them with his encouragement.

"Is it true about the shoppe?" Charlie asked. "Is it really gone?"

Helen nodded and brought her ringless left hand up to her cheek as she teared. "I'm afraid so. While everything was still all confused, the bank foreclosed. They impounded our inventory and my machines and sold them to the highest bidder."

"I can't figure out why."

"Because they didn't want to do business with a woman, that's why." Helen explained, "It wasn't a smart decision on their part, to just come in and demand their money. I never missed a mortgage payment on your schedule. We were making a profit each quarter. I showed them all the receipts and they did not care. When I refused to file a claim on your life insurance, they threw me to the wolves."

Charlie was listening to Helen but at the same time, he rubbed his own hand over the top of her left. All he noticed was the missing ring.

"Helen—where's my ring? The diamond?"

"Charles, I sold it to meet payroll and I had a little left over. I was able to buy back one of my machines at auction." Helen frowned remembering the hasty trip she made to Charlottetown with Uncle John where she sold the ring back to the jeweler. "I didn't know what else to do, but, our employees couldn't be left out in the cold. And I need at least one commercial machine if I'm going to make any sort of a living sewing, although, it will be a lot harder now."

Charlie was disappointed but not because she had sold the ring. She made a good decision there and he meant to tell her later. "You don't trust me to support you?" He sounded defeated. "The idea is to get you away from constantly sewing. That can happen a number of ways."

"Charles, of course, I believe you would support me, but, I wonder if you _should_. There's a conversation you must have with Gertie Wright about the child you have with her," Helen smiled warmly following his jolt of surprise and she again touched his hand. He hoped his clasp didn't feel as uncertain as his insides.

"It's all right, Charlie," Helen repeated to him. "Charlie, it's all right." Charlie lifted his head to hear his nickname. She had never called him "Charlie" before. "I know you were unaware about Robbie. But you know now. You're a father. Everything has changed for you."

"Did you figure that out with or without your powers?" Charlie could feel his hand tremble with unease in hers. He withdrew his hold and her palm fell to his knee. Helen pressed down on the bend of his joint and pivoted as much as she could to face him, even though they sat side by side.

"Well—I saw everything that happened in the final moments on the ship. I saw you and Robert rescuing passengers. And I was so proud of you, to think that _my_ Charles was so brave and so selfless. I saw other men pushing women and children out of their way to save themselves, but you were fearless."

"Stop Helen," Charlie's head hurt as he heard her praise. "I hope you didn't tell mother this! I can't bear the thought of her parading me around Avonlea as some unsung hero."

"You are a hero!" Helen declared. "I think you and Robert saved five people from certain death. And then you handed over your life jacket too! That's when I saw Robert tell you Robbie was your child, Charlie," Helen rubbed his arm for he had hunched over with survivor's guilt. "You deserve some praise!"

"Helen—I have no idea what to do about Gertie and our son," Charlie Sloane could barely utter the word 'son'.

"You owe yourself a chance to discover him and I want you to try. I really do!" Helen calmly said to her best friend. "And, you may discover your feelings for Gertie aren't as fleeting as you claim." Charlie looked up at Helen's understanding face and it was all he could do to keep the tears inside of him in check. She spoke on, "And we'll always be friends, married or not. Give yourself some time. And then, we can see, but I think you'll discover that Gertie can make you happier than I ever could. Assuming the two of you are on the same page. With her, you'll have a family, and possibly, all the love money can't buy. All the love you deserve."

Charlie swallowed to loosen his throat. His hand reached to Helen's cheek and she allowed him to come close and leave a soft kiss on her lips. He then looked away and Helen changed her posture as well. They were passing the drab houses of New Halifax, closer to home. Closer to Avonlea. Charlie used his handkerchief to dry his cheeks. He had been through so much and more changes were to come.

Charlie spoke in his Sloanish voice. "We're still business partners though. We have contracts in Europe to fill." Charlie gloated and heard his own egotism, "I did an amazing job if I'm honest."

"Yes, I know," Helen said. She was happy to hear Charlie's overconfidence shine through. "I've been working around the clock to draft those patterns. And I secured another job as well."

"What's that."

"Well, it's all commissions. I talk people into signing up for the telephone service coming to town."

"Oh, that will be hard work."

"I am particularly gifted to overcome folks objections," Helen winked. "You forget—I did tell you my powers are coming back. I already made one commission."

"Really, who?"

"Your mother," Helen laughed. "I just asked what it would mean to her if she could just hear your voice and know you were safe, even if you were far away. We could team up on this, actually."

"We make a good team, don't we."

"Oh gosh, here we go, another venture!" Helen laughed. "Well, why fix what's not broken, huh?"

Charlie Sloane laughed for the first time since the _Edwina_ sunk and Helen joined in with her own soprano peals.

* * *

 _Dear Davy,_

 _Thank you for your letter and I hope you can forgive my brief reply. I think you've already decided your own answer about the question of race and intelligence. I can assure you, our brains are all the same color. You cannot tell a white brain from a colored brain once it's out of the skull. You can trust me on this point._

 _You're right. Dad tends to forget himself at times. I have learned that the more apprehension you show to certain delicate subjects, the more likely he is to approach you over them. You can trust him completely though, so try not to let his frankness get to you._

 _Your brother,_

 _Gilbert Blythe_

 _P.S. I have an unorthodox idea of how I might heal Mr. Marin._

 _P.P.S. Thank you for helping Miss Marin learn to read. I'm proud of you!_

* * *

 **to be continued**


	23. Revival

Timeline - _Anne of Windy Poplars, The Second Year_ \- Just prior to summer holiday, approximately the end of Chapter 12.

* * *

 **Chapter 23: Revival**

"Are you ever going to open it?" Gilbert asked his roommate.

Eugene held the rather official-looking envelope reverently. Its off-white color and larger than usual shape announced itself in a glance. The long-awaited answer to Eugene's application. Gil was going to miss Gene next year, but they couldn't start the celebrations until he read what surely was good news.

"Alright, alright, you win, Gilbert my friend." Eugene removed his letter opener from his desk drawer. "The last time I spoke with Dean Tomgallon he said he would mail the final decision. I was a little worried he didn't before he died, but it seems he did. It must have been one of the last things he ever did."

Gilbert smiled for his friend as Eugene employed the thin, dull blade on the envelope's crease and extracted the letter. He flapped it open with a flourish. The line between Gene's eyes deepen and his Adam's apple bobbed. Gene's face bore a slightly green hue. "This can't be right," Eugene reread the document again. There was no mistaking his body language, he had been utterly disappointed. Silence filled the room and Gilbert heard himself echo Eugene's frustrated sigh.

"This is terrible," Eugene showed his irritation and slammed his fist on the table. The effect turned out to be more comical than imposing. Eugene was generally so gracious that his display of anger was a hard sell. "To think, I have a contract next fall to teach at Johns Hopkins! Educate the educators, my dream! I can save so many more lives just by making presentations to the right people."

"I'm sorry, Gene. What changed his mind?"

"Clinical experience," Eugene crumpled up the document for the circular file. "The board said I need more clinical experience. They might have been right on that. I'm very experienced with cadavers, as you know, but generally, a medical school is more concerned with graduating doctors to care for the living. I knew that was my weakness. Why did you think I did extra hours at the hospital and more patient casework this year than the other students?"

"I thought you did it get away from me and my weirdness," Gilbert suggested halfheartedly. There was a thread of truth in the statement. Eugene was entitled to a few breaks from being Gilbert's side-kick. "Truthfully, I think you're great with patients. I'm really surprised. How short are you from what they require?"

"Not much, a few hours."

"And they're going to deny you graduation over a few hours."

"I guess so. They have to draw a line somewhere, don't they."

"Gene—I hope this isn't due to me in any way. I wouldn't put it pass Tomgallon to pull his recommendation with the board as an act of retribution against me."

"Well, there will be a new dean soon, won't there. I'll appeal to him. Maybe there's a fleeting hope." Eugene reached for his coat. "I'm going to stop by the hospital, see if I can pick up more patient casework. They won't count it retroactively, but if they offer early graduation again, I want to be ready."

Gilbert hunkered in for an afternoon devoted to studying. He had a bit of catching up to do. With Tomgallon dead, it was easier to focus. An hour passed before Gilbert lifted his head up. Eugene had not returned yet. That was common for him though when it came to his casework. Babies came at any hour and if there were expecting mothers in labor, he'd want to be in on the grand moment. Eugene had a fine bedside manner, Fred and Diana had told him so when Eugene was their doctor last summer.

 _What a second!_ Had Eugene reported his hours with them in his application? There was only one way to find out.

Gilbert went to Eugene's tidy desk. His logs were easy enough to find. Gilbert quickly looked through his ledger, not really reading it, but skimming it for names. A mischievous grin overtook Gilbert's face. Eugene never reported working with the Wrights to his academic adviser. Gilbert put the ledger away where he had found it thinking maybe there was something he could do to help.

Eugene had done his examination of Diana and counseled both Wrights last summer. Surely those summer hours should count as well towards clinical experience? Gilbert wasn't sure and didn't want to revive this hope only to have them dashed once more.

He'd talk to both Fred and Diana about releasing their experience. Instead of completing his notes, Gilbert made himself comfortable on his bed and bi-located to Fred's place before it got any later.

* * *

"Oh, not you too," Gilbert voiced as he knocked on Fred's den door.

Gilbert laughed at the result of his sudden appearance. His best friend, Fred Wright, was normally so calm and even keel; however, that did not make him immune to surprises, especially ones delivered by a bi-locating Gilbert. It was still quite a lot for Fred to take in—knowing that Gilbert was a witch. Fred jumped so high out of his chair he bore an uncanny resemblance to a jack-in-the-box. All that was lacking was the "pop goes the weasel" music. Gilbert had caught him smoking a cigar which was an additional source of embarrassment for Fred. They had sworn to each other, "Never again". The habit dredged up bad memories of nicking a pipe from Mr. Lynde and smoking it in the Lynde's two-seated outhouse.

Fred extinguished his cigar and wiped his hand of residue before beckoning Gilbert out of the doorway and into his domain. Gilbert left the door ajar, "Smoking will kill you, you know. You must not remember how sick we got that time we tried it?"

"I insist the location made us sick, not the tobacco," Fred replied, remembering Gilbert's part of their hoodlum-hood. Their misadventure culminated into an inside joke about the Lynde family. Where the phrase, _Nose-of-steel_ was added as a prefix to the surname. "What were we thinking smoking there of all places?"

"Well, we were thinking that we could leave the pipe inside the outhouse. I wonder if the Lynde's even noticed."

"No—I think not." And Fred easily smiled as he recalled the event, "Mrs. _Nose-of-steel_ Lynde would have told us off quick enough and Mr. _Nose-of-steel_ Lynde probably would have joined us if he knew. What better fun than corrupting two promising, handsome youths! I was always scared of the old geezer, he was ancient compared to Mrs. Lynde." Gilbert's chuckles started to die down, so Fred fell into his routine of welcoming company. "But, I um, enough of that, I guess. It's really nice to see you, Gil. Thank you for your letter. Diana and I took much comfort from it. Gertie too. I read bits of it at his service. It was a lovely little tribute to my big brother."

"I'm just sorry I haven't seen you or Diana since word arrived about the mix-up. I want to express my sympathies to you directly too. Robert was a good friend and I'm truly saddened to know he's gone."

"Thank you, Gil! He died saving a woman's life." A long, shaky pause followed and Fred found himself in his cherished friend's arms. "That's the kind of man he was and I'm going to miss him a lot." Fred always found Gilbert's embrace to be very solid and re-assuring but he was glad when it was over.

Gilbert glanced to the ashtray where a few wisps of smoke still curled.

"Don't blame me for my new habit, Gilbert. Charlie Sloane that sent me the box. You see here?" Fred retrieved his extinguished cigar from the ashtray and showed Gilbert the "It's a boy!" label.

"Charlie? Charlie sent you cigars?"

Fred nodded, "Yep, and you probably got a box too. He sent every man and boy he knew a box of cigars. It's odd, Gil. Charlie returned home withdrawn and depressed and he's still not quite his old self. But he's still a Sloane! He's well aware that Robert died, and that he was my brother, but he's so tickled about being a father now too. I can't decide if I'm happy for him, or disgusted that he's including me in this happiness, which was due to my brother's death."

"I supposed it's more the former than the latter if you're smoking them."

"Perhaps? You want one?"

Gilbert declined and sat on the end of the sofa, crossing his legs at the knee.

"Spats?"

Gilbert looked at his foot, "Yeah."

Fred then fell into a guffaw. "City life has really changed you. You're a dandy now. Congratulations."

Gilbert snorted, "You should see some of my classmates then. I'm telling you Fred—I just barely fit in. Eugene and I are the odd ones because we're so much older than the others."

"I would think it's because you're a witch."

"Well—that too, but, most don't really know. Eugene does of course."

"How is Dr. Felder?"

Gilbert's heavy voice indicated the turmoil in Kingsport. "He's upset right now. His plans for early graduation were derailed. It's one of the reasons why I came here tonight. . ." Gilbert cut himself off as he watched Fred stand. Gilbert heard movement behind him and also stood, knowing it was a woman entering the room before seeing her. Gilbert pivoted to see Diana nursing the baby.

Her head was down as she cradled small Anne Cordelia to her breast, the infant's mouth on her nipple. The circle of her white breast larger than the baby's head. Diana was telling Fred about tucking Freddie in for the night. She wasn't even aware that Gilbert was in the room until she looked up and saw Gilbert and Fred regarding her less than fully-dressed condition.

"Oh," Diana turned around quickly, showing them her back. "Fred, darling. You should let me know when we have company."

"I just popped in, literally. Please don't be mad, Diana, I'm sorry." Gilbert responded, well aware of his own blush. Next time he would bi-locate to their front door and knock for entry like a normal person. "I am in medical school, you know."

"I know, but you're still the boy that used to call me 'crow' too." Diana remained with her back to them but didn't move to leave the room. "Would one of you hand me that blanket on the sofa? I'll cover up the hungry princess and sit with you."

It was Fred that draped the soft pink blanket over Diana's front. Fred directed a few cooing noises to his daughter before mouthing, "I'm sorry" to his wife.

Diana's cheeks were still pink as she took a seat. "What brings you by Gilbert?"

"I was just coming to it. Eugene applied for early graduation and was denied because he needs more clinical experience. I think you two can help though."

"What? Dr. Felder was wonderful with us," Diana said and Fred nodded his agreement. "I can't believe his bedside manner is in question."

"Well, it's not quite that. He is a good doctor. It's a matter of total hours with patients and Gene is short a few. I think his time here with you should count towards the requirement, and I'm asking if you might write to the school, on Eugene's behalf, just in case you were forgotten in his reporting. But, it's got to come from you directly, there's confidentially and privacy issues at stake. I can't relay data."

"We'll be happy to do that Gilbert," Diana said with a broad smile. She peeked under that blanket and returned her grin to her guest. "This little lady is done eating. Would you like to burp her while I go get my stationery?"

Diana expertly slipped Anne Cordelia out from under the blanket and handed her to Uncle Gilbert while keeping herself covered. Gilbert took the squirming baby into his arms. He was better at holding infants now that he had some as patients, but he wasn't expert like they were. "Oh, don't look so terrified. Fred will help." She then fidgeted under the cover to close her blouse. Once buttoned, she gave the blanket to Gilbert. "I'll be right back."

Under Fred's instruction, Gilbert moved Anne Cordelia to his left shoulder and the blanket was used as a burp cloth.

"Just pat her back a tad with your right hand." Gilbert did so and rocked her gently. Fred looked at his friend and daughter with a critical eye. "She's not much of a burper, really. Little Fred was a quite the prodigy in that regard."

"Fred—she's grown so much." Gilbert couldn't hide his amazement, even if he did know all the stages of life and their associated medical conditions.

"Like weeds, they grow like weeds!" Fred allowed himself the sin of pride. "You'll find out someday for yourself when you and Anne are married. In one instant, they're these small, strange creatures you're afraid to touch, and the next moment, they're crawling and toddling around. It's a lot of fun even if you think you'll never sleep again."

Gilbert watched Fred's excitement with the same sort of awe an art enthusiast gives a painting. He handed Miss Wright back to her Daddy. She was momentarily frightened to learn that someone she didn't know had been holding her, but then instantly calmed as she found herself in more familiar arms.

"So Gil, what else brings you by tonight? You said that Dr. Felder was just one of the reasons you wanted to see us."

"Do you still have those prayer meetings I've heard about?"

"Yes, in fact, next weekend Diana and I will host another one."

"Fred, this idea might be a bit strange, but Davy and my father wrote me about healing Mr. Marin, Dad's farmhand. I cant' figure out how to heal him and provide an explanation for his recovery, unless, maybe I do it as part of a ceremony where something like that might be expected. The power of prayer, that sort of guise."

"Gilbert – do you even hear what you're saying?" Fred said as he rocked his baby gently to sleep, "Everyone will know it's you."

"Only if they see me."

"Couldn't you just pretend to doctor him?" Fred reasoned.

"As I understand it he's been to a few doctors. I don't see how I can provide a different outcome and not tip off Dr. Blair or Dr. Spencer. But I thought if my favorite theologian could plan a revival, and maybe with the right staging, it might work."

* * *

 _What a friend we have in Jesus*  
All our sins and griefs to bear!  
What a privilege to carry  
Everything to God in prayer!  
Oh, what peace we often forfeit,  
Oh, what needless pain we bear,  
All because we do not carry  
Everything to God in prayer!_

"Welcome back!" Preacher Wright said as the hymn petered to a close. "Let me ask you, do you pray every day? Do you ask the Lord for the things you need?"

Marilla happened to glance at Davy in front of her, his attention on a slight, brown girl sitting on the other side of the room. The girl turned to address his weighed stare. Her smile caused his ears to pink, but he must have smiled back as she suddenly went rigid. Marilla's stomach clenched. They were flirting. The reports she had been told were true. Davy liked a colored girl. Well, it would be up to her to tell Davy he should stick with his kind, although, it could wait for later. Her eyes returned to the make-shift pulpit. Fred egged his gatherers on with talks about daily prayer.

A voice shouted from two rows back. "I pray every day for peace and love and health."

Rachel Lynde leaned to whisper to Marilla, "That would be Margo White from New Halifax. I told you about her."

"Rachel—I hardly think whispering is necessary right now," Marilla responded with a gentle touch to Rachel's arm. That seemed to calm Mrs. Lynde, but the "Praise Jesus!" outbursts from the crowd were rattling her nerves. Grown-ups shouldn't be so moved. Controlling yourself was the evidence you were an adult. Marilla eyed the front door and wondered if she should leave, but then, Gilbert had specifically asked her and Anne to be there for the prayer service. She looked around wondering where he might be.

"Amen," was joyfully said from right behind her and Marilla lurched forward as a colored woman behind stood to add her hallelujahs.

"Could you imagine what Reverend would say if we worshiped like this?" Rachel continued to whisper, but not so quietly this time.

Wryly, "He'd think we drunk the sacramental wine."

"I like it. There's something to be said about these Pentecostal movements." Mrs. Lynde's enraptured expression only added to her witness, "For the first time ever, I feel involved with the ceremony."

A colored man sat at the piano hammering out old spirituals Marilla hadn't heard since her youth. The out-of-tune instrument was played within an inch of its life and the small, home congregation shouted more thanksgivings. Mrs. Sloane had just finished giving her updates to her new spiritual community. She stood before the audience.

"Thank you, Jesus for saving my son, Charlie!" Mrs. Sloane almost sang. She had gotten the hang of effusive prayer. The piano player was a bit of ham during her speech and provided an appropriate score for additional effect. "And, I learned, that I'm a Grandmother too! I can't believe how the Lord has blessed me!"

Right on cue, the crowd started with their "Amens!" and Mrs. Sloane tried to find a free chair among the New Halifax folk.

"Amen! Oh, mighty Lord, Amen! Amen!" Margo shouted jubilantly for her white friend. Margo reached over a few people to touch Mrs. Sloane's shawl. "I prayed for you and your son Charlie every day, and see what a kind God He is." Her thick lips closed and buzzed richly the hymn, "Blessed Assurance**"

The musician heard her and fell into playing the new hymn. Margo jumped to the third verse,

 _Perfect submission, all is at rest!  
I in my Savior am happy and blessed,  
Watching and waiting, looking above,  
Filled with His goodness, lost in His love_

Marilla was relieved when Fred Wright took charge of the small band of prayer warriors. He asked everyone to move their chairs so a circle was formed. Marilla's knees touched her neighbors. She was forced to hold the hand of some stranger as she watched everyone bow their heads.

"Now tonight we're going to pray for healings," Preacher Fred informed. "We had success praying for Charlie Sloane's return, perhaps a few of you need to be healed? Now let me tell you the rules in this circle, close your eyes to the world and unite your thoughts with heaven above. We are brothers and sisters. We are equals. Jesus atoned for all sin and race does not matter. Trust in the Lord God, and keep your eyes closed, but your hearts open. I'll come by and pray with you one by one. And maybe, just maybe, Providence will provide."

The crowd was now subdued and set on its mission. Fred Wright's voice periodically interrupted the hush. His style of vocal prayer was more Marilla's speed. He repeated a verse, ask the Lord for intercession, and moved on. Marilla broke the rules of the circle when she opened her eyes. She had heard footsteps. Someone was closing in on her, but Fred's voice was on the other side of the room. Fred saw Marilla's curiosity and smiled back her direction as he laid his hand on Margo White. Then Marilla saw Gilbert in her peripheral and understood it was all a ruse.

Gilbert didn't say anything as he placed his hands over on her eyes. Marilla acquiesced to Gilbert's healing powers. Mrs. White and Fred loudly prayed almost directly across from her. It didn't take Gilbert long and Marilla really wanted test his handiwork out, but instead, folded her head down with a small "Amen."

She continued to hear Brother Fred move around the circle. He spent a long time praying with Mr. Marin, the Blythe's farmhand. Finally, Fred called the group from its prayer, the congregation lifted their heads and unlinked their hands. Marilla sniffed audibly, unable to control her own emotions as her eyes beheld for the first time in decades a picture that wasn't foggy.

She tested her vision, looking up without moving her head. And she looked down as well, to the left and to the right. The view started to blur but corrected itself once the tear dislodged.

"Marilla?" Rachel wasn't using her hushed voice anymore. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing Rachel." She swallowed and pressed her hankie to her tear ducts. "I'll tell you when we get home." She was too overwhelmed to jump up and shout, "Amen."

* * *

Mr. Marin entered the spare bedroom at Fred Wright's. The room was as he remembered it from last month. The bed was plush and the furniture grand. A man and a redheaded woman were in the room, waiting for him. "Preacher Fred said you had something to tell me. I'm Hank Marin."

Gilbert offered his hand to Mr. Marin and introduced himself, "I'm very pleased to meet you, Mr. Marin. I am Gilbert Blythe. Do you know my fiancée? Miss Anne Shirley?

"You look very much like your father," Mr. Marin said to Gilbert in return. He then politely spoke to Anne, "Mrs. Blythe said you're a teacher in the big city of Summerside, is that right, Miss Shirley?"

"Yes, that's right," Anne said as she let Mr. Marin kiss her hand. He had been raised very formerly and Anne did not mind his sweet, old-fashioned ways.

"It's my pleasure to meet you. I was hoping we would. I pray that you might help my daughter learn to read."

"I'd be happy to," Anne assured him, "But, I'm doing my best to work through young Mr. Keith."

Mr. Marin gave a soft laugh and said with a smidgen of pride, "He's probably the first of many boys to notice my baby girl. Davy is a good fellow though, he treats her real nice."

Gilbert's face lit up to hear Davy praised by the girl's father. He then put that thought away and focused on the task at hand. "Mr. Marin, I can see you're no fool, are you?"

"Yes, I know about you. I know you're a witch."

Anne slipped her hand in Gilbert's when Mr. Marin shared what he knew. Gilbert squeezed it back, thankful it was there.

"I'm trusting you to keep this a secret. I want to try to heal you again. Anne is here to help me."

Mr. Marin gave Gilbert and Anne a puzzled expression.

"She helps me focus," Gilbert explained, "You're a very sick man and I want to give it my all. And I couldn't do that out there. I felt a lot of resistance. The disease you have is very strong."

"Yes, I know. I don't have long, do I?" Mr. Marin said. "The headaches are getting to be unbearable."

Gilbert didn't answer that question. "Will you please take a seat?"

"Right."

"Now, I'm going to cradle your head with my hands. They'll get really warm, but I'm not going to stop."

"You want my hands over yours?" Anne asked.

Gilbert nodded.

Mr. Marin's blond locks of fine hair parted for Gilbert's fingers as his hands cradled Mr. Marin's skull. Anne watched Gilbert's hands twitch as he brought all his magic to them. Anne tentatively put her hands over Gilbert's and she felt his struggle. She could feel him try to reach past a place he wasn't allowed to go. His hands were so hot that she couldn't endure it much longer. Gilbert grunted as he tried to push past the block. His eyes were red, globes of fire, his face unnatural.

In an instant, she pulled his hands off Mr. Marin and Gilbert fell to his knees exhausted. Anne watched his eyes quickly turn back to hazel. His face was ashen and haggard, but he was strong enough to stand.

"I want to try again," Gilbert said. "I could see what was wrong."

"No," Mr. Marin answered. "No son. The Lord has decided, you can't change it. It's not within you. But I will always be grateful for you trying. It's a tumor, isn't it?"

"Now, look who's playing doctor."

"But I'm right?" Mr. Marin said.

"It is." Gilbert felt Anne's hand on his back as he told him. "You've got yourself one wallop of a brain tumor. It's growing. I don't know how long you've got, but it won't be much longer."

"I can feel it. Would you be so kind to tell my girl? I don't know if I have the strength for that, and I think she might need to hear it from someone else. She wouldn't want to ask me questions too much."

* * *

Davy watched from a safe distance as Gilbert Blythe escorted Miss Marin away from the crowd and outside into the fresh air. Gilbert squatted low so that Miss Marin was the tall one. He held her hand as he spoke and Davy could see him mouth the words, "I'm so sorry," to the petite girl with tea colored skin. She shook her head as if she didn't hear him correctly and again, they share a couple of more sentences. Gilbert used his hands to illustrate what he was saying. Miss Marin finally nodded and decided to walk away.

Gilbert stood to his full height and took his white handkerchief out of his trouser's pocket and dabbed what seem to be mournful eyes.

 _I'm so sorry._ He had told Miss Marin. Davy could even hear him say it in his head. _I'm so sorry._ Those terrible words announcing his failure.

Fury built up in his smaller, yet capable body and Davy approached him. "You didn't do it, did you?"

Gilbert looked around wondering if anyone had heard Davy. He shook his head, "No, I can't it seems."

Angry, Davy tackled Gilbert. He put all his weight into knocking Gilbert's center of gravity off center and Gilbert hit the ground hard. The next thing Gilbert knew Davy was throwing punches in his direction.

"You go back and heal him! You don't understand! You've got to!"

"Davy!" Gilbert pushed him off and somehow managed to pin him down without hurting him too much. "What is this about?"

"Let me go!" Davy cried in response. "Let me go you... _freak_!"

"Fine—just promise me you'll stop trying to hit me," Gilbert tightened his grasp. Davy could tell that Gilbert's strength and size were no match for his. Gilbert was twelve years older than he was and fully grown.

"I promise."

Gilbert glared at Davy and Davy relaxed, "I promise Gilbert. I won't try anything."

Satisfied Gilbert released Davy Keith. Davy got up and attempted to walk away.

"Oh no!" Gilbert said as he grabbed his shoulder. He maneuvered Davy to take a few side steps with him. "What was that about? What I do?"

"More like what you didn't do."

Gilbert lowered his voice and said, "I can't heal Mr. Marin. I don't know why exactly, but it wasn't in my power." Davy's eyes blazed but Gilbert wasn't deterred. "Mr. Marin is dying. He has a brain tumor and that's what's giving him seizures. There's no hope for a cure, Davy. I'm really very sorry about it."

Davy shook his head. "He can't be dying."

"If I let you go, I will tell you what I told Miss Marin. Can I trust you to stay put?"

Davy shrugged his shoulders and Gilbert let go.

"Imagine my closed hand here is a brain. He's got a growth right here." Gilbert pointed with his other hand. "It's a slow growth and there's still a bit of time, but eventually, it will take Mr. Marin's life. I told Miss Marin to expect her Papa to complain about headaches. He might get weak or dizzy. He may not even remember her at times. That is very common when you have a tumor. . ."

"No," Davy interrupted as if denying Gilbert's diagnosis would somehow lessen the severity of Mr. Marin's illness. Davy's face was one terrific grimace. "That can't be right. It's not right."

"Are you calling me a liar?"

"If he dies, who's going to take care of her? Who's going to be her family? Who will love her?"

Gilbert gave Davy a funny expression. "Well, I haven't talked to Dad about it, but I would assume she'll be welcomed to stay with my parents. We can be her family. As far as who will love her, I think there's someone in her life that already loves her in spades." Gilbert looked so intently at Davy that it caused Davy's jaw to unhinge. "Davy, you're wearing your heart on your sleeve."

"I do not. . ." Davy choked and bypassed saying _love her._

"You do."

"No, I don't." Through his clenched jaw, Davy said, "Take it back."

Gilbert was reluctant to do so, but finally, "Davy, if you say you don't love her, I'll believe you, but you do care, don't you?"

"I do care," Davy admitted. "She has a tough life already."

"Well, she's waiting for you in Fred's garden." Gilbert had rocked up to his toes to see her among the roses. "Better hurry before some other boy finds her. Didn't I see another young man here?"

Davy's lips parted at that thought. Determinedly, "I'll go make sure she's all right."

Davy strode off with a final shove from Gilbert towards Miss Marin who was sitting on a bench near Fred Wright's rose bushes. Davy noticed several songbirds were keeping her company, flocking at her feet. He wondered why so many birds would be next to her. Then he eyed the nearby bird feeder. He supposed the flock was tame, waiting for a chance for food—a crust of bread or another scrap. She only gave them her soft smile. Davy saw a glistening sheen of water on her cheek and compassion for her flooded him. The girl that never complained about anything if she could help it was sitting alone crying.

One of the birds dropped something before her and she picked it up just as Davy came into her peripheral. She turned to see who it was and then looked away. Davy noticed in her hand a small budding rose.

"Can I sit with you?" Davy heard himself ask. The birds scattered back to the sky at his arrival which gave his simple question great cadence.

Miss Marin gave a small nod. She drew up her legs and canopied her skirt over her knees and rested her head on the bend. A small collection of flora in her lap fell away. She was small and tight next to the bench's armrest which gave Davy ample room. Davy covered as much area as possible as he seated himself to dissuade a possible third person from joining them.

The birds returned and in their beaks, they offered Miss Marin more blossoms.

Davy commented, "I can't figure out why those birds seem to flock to you," Davy was displeased with the shake of emotion in his voice. There was something tender about Miss Marin picking up their offerings. The silky petals stuck to her tear-stained fingertips. He fought for composure. "It must be because you sit so still."

Miss Marin tried not to smile but Davy caught the smallest twitch of one. She sat up and let her feet rest on the ground, kicking a leg forward like she always did.

"I'm really sorry, Miss Marin." Davy heard himself say, "I thought for sure Gilbert would be able to help your father. I'm really very surprised he couldn't."

"Davy, no doctor can fix Papa." Miss Marin explained softly, "I've known _that_ a long time now. I'm not much disappointed Gilbert couldn't do anything, except, that it disappoints you."

"Well. . . " Davy had to speak slowly and carefully in order to keep Gilbert's secret a secret. "I think of Gilbert as my brother and I guess I put him on too high a pedestal. When I told you that Gil could fix your father, I truly believed he could. I can't explain more."

"Davy, I know Gilbert's a witch," Miss Marin finally said, "And I know you know as well. So the secret you keep for Gilbert is safe. Thank you for asking Gilbert to come and try to heal Papa."

Davy wasn't sure how to respond as he worried if he might have slipped the information to Miss Marin. "You're welcomed, I guess. Some magical healer he is," Davy sarcastically delivered.

"Gilbert said that Papa is dying," Miss Marin reported back to Davy. "He could see exactly what was wrong and..." Miss Marin was rubbing her cuff against her eyes and sniffled. "He's got a tumor in his head. It's growing, and..."

"Gilbert told me the same thing just now," Davy interrupted so she wouldn't have to repeat the heartbreaking details of her Papa's illness. "If it helps you feel better, I did try and beat him up for not healing your Dad."

Miss Marin chuckled and paid Davy another smile. Her dark, tear stain face and bright white teeth in glaring contrast. "You crazy? Gilbert's a full grown man. A tall one too."

"Well, the bigger they are, the harder they fall." Davy showed Miss Marin his right hand, "He let me get one good punch in before pinning me down. I might have bruised his arm." He shook it out, "I hurt myself a bit."

She laughed outright at Davy's comedic effort. His flapping hand somehow displacing the hurt she felt inside. "That was very silly of you."

"Gilbert's super smart but he doesn't understand what it means to be an orphan," Davy stared into Miss Marin's golden, brown eyes and spoke from the heart, "I know what it means and I don't wish that on anyone, much less you."

Miss Marin's face contorted with grief and her eyes darted away. When she looked back she found Davy's attention still on her, perhaps harder and more focused than ever before.

"We never knew our father and we were only six when Mama died, but I remember well enough. Those final weeks in East Grafton were miserable," Davy told Miss Marin. He looked at a distant point. "We slept next to Mama like we were cats, never sure when the angels would come, but knowing they were on their way. In the morning, we'd run out of the house in the same clothes we slept in and nick food from the neighbors—they were very kind about that actually. Mama sometimes would get up and try to feed us or dress us or comb our hair. But she was in no shape and her pain grew worse and worse."

Davy rubbed a tear from his cheek. His speech was halting, forcefully given. He struggled to finish it.

"The hardest part was watching her be sick, Miss Marin. We knew her life was ending and it was so sad. We were next to her when she died. And it hurt a lot but it was a _good_ pain. Mama could do so much more for us from heaven than from her sick bed. I was happy she died, actually. She was free." Davy had to breathe a moment but eventually, his saddened eyes found hers again. He felt warmth to his toes with her looking at him like she was. "It's funny that I didn't cry at all then, and now I can't seem to stop as I tell you this. Of all times not to have a hankie." He turned to his shirt collar instead and blew.

"Davy," Miss Marin whispered back to him. She bowed her head and indicated she understood, "My Mama passed away after being sick too, but her illness lasted only a week or so. I'd do almost anything to see her again. I have nothing from her, not even a picture—just the memories I share with Papa."

"Those memories are precious things, aren't they," Davy was a bit soberer now. He regretted not maintaining a steadier composure for Miss Marin to lean on. "Mama gave Marilla her diamond ring before she passed. She wanted to be sure the ring stayed with us. When I was a bit younger, Marilla used to let me look at the ring when I missed Mama. I thought the way the diamond sparkled was Mama talking to me. You know, those happy glimmers of light were words I couldn't hear. And sometimes, I would put it on my thumb and pretend she was hugging me."

"Davy, that's really sweet." Miss Marin said as she continued to wipe her own face, now overcome for Davy's loss.

"It doesn't change the fact that I would trade that ring in for one more memory of her." Davy stopped trying to hide the wet rolling out of his eyes from Miss Marin. "Being an orphan is awful, but it's made easier with memories you can share. So, make some nice ones with your Papa while you can, Miss Marin." Davy boldly laid a hand on her shoulder. "All the glitter in the world won't replace them."

"No," Miss Marin tried to compose herself too but failed. The sobs overtook her and she leaned a little on him. Davy's presence allowed her to cry freely once she accepted she wouldn't have to cry alone.

* * *

Anne and Gilbert walked back home as they needed to isolate themselves a bit. Anne had felt from the first that Gilbert's idea to heal people at a prayer service risky, but, it had worked with the cooperation of Fred.

"I'm still surprised you got Marilla to come here tonight," Anne said. "What did you tell her?"

"I just asked that she trust me," Gilbert jested at Anne, "I may have flirted a bit." His eyes danced in step with his laugh.

Anne's eye's crawled up Gilbert's chest and to his face. His laughing eyes had grown more weathered since Christmas. The small laugh lines had grown into wrinkles. Anne looked away. _He's almost twenty-seven_ _. Hardly a surprise._ Still, Anne meant to get to the bottom of Gilbert's worries. She squeezed his hand and they slowed their walk.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Anne suggested. "I know not being able to heal Mr. Marin came as quite the shock to you."

"Oh, Anne," Gilbert's sigh was breathy. "I have so many thoughts right now and I'm uncertain which one needs to be concentrated on. I feel lousy about Mr. Marin and his daughter. I can't believe that the one time I really needed and wanted to use my magic to heal someone, I couldn't!"

"Gilbert, it's all right to be upset. It's not like your powers came with an instruction manual," Anne pointed out, "As much as I love your family, they didn't prepare you well for being a witch. And that's not your fault. What do you think happened?"

"Katherine warned me I had a weakness and I'm going to guess, brain tumors is it."

"Or maybe all brain injuries?" Anne lifted her brows in thought. "You couldn't heal my concussion two Christmases ago."

Gilbert paused for a second and Anne bumped into him. "You might be onto something there. Davy said he saw my eyes go wild when I tried to heal you. Did you see it too?"

"Yes—I saw it too," Anne hitched her breath high into her chest. "Gil, I understand why Davy was afraid of you for a while. Your eyes were glowing red orbs of fire."

"It was a block. I've felt it before, with Dad too."

Anne asked plainly, "What might have happened if you pushed past."

"Honestly Anne, I don't want to find out." Gilbert fought for the right word. Pushing past his limit felt contrary to life, almost suicidal. He wouldn't use that word though, "Perhaps it would be the last magical thing I ever do. My powers would rupture. That must have happened when I healed Dad."

Gilbert stopped walking and motioned for Anne to come closer to him. He took her other hand into his and led Anne to a small wood along the road. From inside the canopy of budding leaves, he asked Anne a question that had been pestering him.

"Anne—I don't seem to know where my boundaries are with my magic. I set up this rigmarole to heal a man I cannot heal, why couldn't I sense that limit before? And if limits are so hard for me to perceive, I wonder if I might have done magic on accident, and not know."

"What do you mean?"

"In self-defense. I was provoked and I think I might have magicked the problem away."

"Gilbert! Provoked?" Anne's voice went tight. "Someone came after you because you're a witch?"

"It was a bit more complicated than that," Gilbert informed Anne. "The Dean of the Medical School suspected I was a witch and I basically confirmed everything for him when he watched me heal his son.

"Anne, stop looking at me that way. I had to do it. That boy was dying from consumption. I didn't want to chance it for another time. I had to act."

Anne pursed her lips and used her wide, green eyes to convey her dismay. Her admonishments withered when she recalled the time he took her to the hospital. He berated himself for not trying to heal the child, Suzette, when he had the chance. _What'_ _s the point of being a Blythe if I don't use my powers?_

"Anyway, the Dean wanted me to go to his family home in Summerside and break a curse," Gilbert reported. "His idea was lunacy. He wanted to sacrifice someone lucky and then have me revived them. And I kept telling him 'no' but he wasn't listening. I wished it to go away. Eugene heard me say it even. And it was something I just said, there wasn't really any particular solemnity in my thought, but a few days later, the Dean had died and my problem was gone."

"Gilbert! You can't be serious." Anne heard about the Medical School's Dean passing away suddenly. He was Dr. Hart's uncle and Dr. Hart's son Jimmy was excused for two days of school so they could travel to Kingsport and back for the service. "You can't just wish something away. It can't be that easy."

"I'm inclined to think that but the question hovers over me,"

Anne gave a muffled snort. "Gilbert, your powers do not extend that far. Think about the ramifications if it did, anything you wish for would be likely to happen. And with the way you like to tease, I believe you would have figured that ability out a long time ago. I can see you now beckoning hats off of ladies heads and toupees off of bald men, all because it was a good joke. Think about the trickster you can be and ask yourself if you really had that much power, wouldn't you know?"

"You have a point there," Gilbert's face lighted up with relief. He then checked the sun's position in the sky. Dusk was fast approaching. He held out his hand and Anne took it. They returned to the road and rambled on.

 **to be continued**

* What a Friend we have in Jesus – 1855 by Joseph M Scivern  
**Blessed Assurance – 1873 Lyrics by blind hymn writer Fanny Crosby and music by Phoebe Knapp. (Personally, one of my favorite hymns)


	24. Colors

_Warning: Violence and the n-word._

Timeline - _Anne of Windy Poplars, The Second Year._ Chapter 13 It is alright to assume Elizabeth Grayson is also at Green Gables, I just couldn't work her into my narrative.

* * *

 **Chapter 24: Colors**

Ralph Andrews steadied his future bride Dora Keith as they struggled to ascend the rolling hill. A warm, pert wind swept her hair loose and a river of blonde trailed them as they half ran, half walked the acreage that one day would be theirs. He had picked out the spot to build their home and wanted to show her. After he graduated this winter from Queens, the foundation would be laid, all courtesy of his parents.

"What do you think?"

Ralph's sparkling eyes coaxed Dora's blossoming blush and she faltered under his gaze. She couldn't wait. She longed to start the rest of her life, even if some thought her ambition, to keep house, rather unambitious. Dora figured that she didn't need a big dream. She was content to find beauty in her children and pride in a tidy home. Even if her hopes weren't grand, she aimed to live grandly.

Ralph pulled her arm to bring her to him and he hugged her from behind. He rested his chin on her crown and pointed. "The house will be here on the hill and the stables to the left. We might be able to see all the way out to Newbridge from our second story. We'll be in the center of everything here."

Dora bit the bottom of her lip as to not disappoint Ralph. She wasn't sure about being so visible to strangers, especially with the Newbridge road running next to their property line. Green Gables had spoiled her for its seclusion; however, there was also something to be said about the Andrews building them a flashy house. Their home would be a showcase for the Andrew's name. Ralph's sister, Mrs. Ingles, promised Ralph and Dora all the modern conveniences; hot and cold running water, a boiler in the basement, and a hand-crank washing machine for her Monday work.

"Well, what do you think?" Ralph asked yet again, eager to hear approval for his provisions.

Dora turned to her young man to offer her opinion and found herself mute. _Oh, what does it matter where the house is as long as he is in the house?_

"Kiss me," Dora asked, pleaded, perhaps begged. She was never shy about soliciting his affection.

If the sunshine warmed her outsides Ralph's kisses melted her insides. Ralph slid his large hands down her back. He hoisted her up and Dora hitched her legs around his waist and her skirts pillowed with sun-warmed air. Their kisses were more refined, not the sloppy executions of the past. Lips and tongues gently explored the others. Unhurried. Dora felt so loved and wanted. Her hands stroked Ralph's smoothly shaved jaw. He twirled her until she wriggled free.

"Do you have any idea how mad I am for you?" Ralph put his hands into his trouser pockets as Dora straightened her petticoats and peach over-skirt. He was looking at her in a way that made her blush redder. He was positively smitten. "I have it really bad for you, right now."

"Ralph!" Dora couldn't believe how he told her that, but the truth was she was more curious than shocked. It flattered her to think she might have such an effect on him. She told herself, as well as him, "We'll be married one day."

"I don't know if I can wait too much longer. The diaper count. How close are you to completing it?" Ralph chuckled at this question as he said it. He heard its weirdness. It was a bizarre condition for them, two thousand dirty diapers change she must. The fact that he already had a parcel of land to farm should have satisfied Miss Marilla Cuthbert.

"Ralph, it's going to be very close," was all Dora said as they descended the hill, leaning just so to counter gravity and the angle. "But I'll drop out of school to make the diaper count before Christmas. I'm up to four hundred now. I call on every house I know that has a child in diapers. I even go to New Halifax and help the mothers there. Those colored babies are so cute too."

Ralph stopped walking unexpectedly. His frown washed her in cold disapproval.

"Dora, you mustn't go to New Halifax, not anymore," Ralph commanded Dora.

"Ralph—why not?

"We can't avoid the coloreds if they come to town, but we can definitely avoid them by not going into theirs."

Dora was confused. "Why does it matter? A dirty diaper is a diaper, and Marilla makes no distinction on that."

"But it does matter, Dora my darling! The races should never, ever mix. But you not knowing that is one of the reasons why I want to get you away from that house of eccentrics." Ralph sighed heavily and his voice lowered an octave. "Miss Cuthbert did a wonderful thing to take you and Davy when your mother died, everyone agrees, but Dora—surely you can see that her mind has grown feeble and her decisions show it. Bundling? Two-thousand diapers? And now she says her vision was restored by prayer? Old age has not been kind to her."

Dora's face fell, "Ralph, don't be so mean. Marilla is very old-fashioned and prim but her mind is not addled. Although, I do sort of see why the bundling would be questioned. Even Anne and Gilbert don't bundle anymore."

Ralph shook his head. "They're probably still sharing a bed—don't you think? Miss Cuthbert gave them a taste for it."

"Gilbert is a gentleman," Dora educated Ralph. It was very indecent thought for her to have about Gilbert and Anne. "I'm sure he means to stay proper. Gilbert's sort of stuffy in his ways."

"He is also a man," Ralph educated Dora in return. "A slightly strange man anymore, but a man nonetheless. It's harder than you'll ever know to keep a promise like that."

"I'm sure he won't break it."

"I'm sure he wants to." Ralph pulled Dora closer to him as the ground leveled off. "If I'm honest, Dora, I know because it's how I feel about you. Whenever we kiss, all I want to do is more!"

"Ralph!"

"What? I'll never lie to you Dora," Ralph said. "I might speak roughly at times, but I won't lie. I love you and I want the absolute best for you, but please, stay away from New Halifax. Separation of the races is God's law. We learned about the Table of Nations a long time ago in Sunday school.*" More slowly and carefully, "You may want to distance yourself from Davy too. That girl he walks home. . . "

"Miss Marin?"

"She's not good enough for him. I know she's half white but it's still wrong. One day I may have to have a word with him."

"Ralph!" Dora said, "Davy's leaving me alone about you and I hope that you can give him the same courtesy. Promise me, don't talk to Davy about it."

Ralph needed a second to consider Dora's blazing expression. She looked daggers at him. Ralph recalled Davy was more than her brother, but her twin. Twins were always strangely defensive of the other. He had seen his own identical twin nieces act the same way.

"You promise to marry me in Montréal at Christmas?"

"I will move heaven and earth to make the count. But, please let me go to New Halifax!" Dora placed a hand on his chest. "I promise you that you'll be happy you did. We are going to have so much fun together, married."

Ralph bent over to kiss her again. "Alright, alright, you've made your point." And Ralph could feel Dora's smile come between their lips.

* * *

Henrietta could only do so much for Miss Marin as a sow. It broke her heart that she couldn't decipher the book held in front of her. She kindly grunted and oinked and although she couldn't exactly wag her curly-cue tail, she made the effort anyway. After all, Miss Marin was her favorite person in the entire world. She was always bringing her the nicest slop and praising her piglets. Her eyes spoke apologies as Miss Marin dropped the book into her lap. The young lady was really sad.

"Henrietta, where do you suppose Davy is? We always go over words in the morning."

Henrietta sat down and grunted something incomprehensible to most.

"Do you think so?"

Henrietta nodded and oinked, unsure if she was understood. Miss Marin still looked unhappy but seemed distracted by her attempts to make her smile.

Henrietta didn't know she was being stalked by Charlie, her oldest hog. He came up behind her and attempted to get her to flop down so he could nurse. He nipped her rump. Miss Marin laughed when Henrietta squealed in surprise. Henrietta chased off her boy and returned to Miss Marin's lovely smile. She sat back down in the trough's shadow, knowing she had helped turn a frown upside down.

* * *

Soon after Davy waltzed into the barn. He was suppressing a huge smile, like Lewis' Chester Cat, and Miss Marin craved to know what it was causing Davy to be so elated. Wisely, she stared at him and waited. His euphoric expression only grew and Miss Marin tried to think of what might have happened to cause such delight behind his eyes. He just gazed back at her, brimming with energy.

Finally, Miss Marin broke. "Davy, what is it? What happened?"

And Henrietta squealed her questions too at him, but that caused her piglets to suddenly form an oinking stampede.

"I'm sorry I'm late," He saw Henrietta turn her snout up in a way that would put a Pye to shame. "Marilla's mare had her foal this morning and I helped. Mr. Harrison had me reach inside and adjust the foals legs while it was happening."

"Oh!" Her delight for him made his smile seem modest. She loved animals and their babies. Davy watched her curiosity build until it was too much for her to bear. "What did she have?"

"A black colt I think."

Rival whinnied loudly from his stall and pawed the floor. Davy gave him a yellow carrot.

"Don't you know Davy?" Miss Marin giggled. "It's not that hard to figure out."

Davy felt his face go pink. "The lighting wasn't great but it seemed to have a ...a..." Her laugh was louder than he expected, "Boy parts."

Davy was still laughing as he approached Miss Marin on their bench.

"I've been waiting for you to test my spelling," Miss Marin pushed her book into his hands as he sat down. "Henrietta was helping me earlier."

He raised his eyebrow, surprised. "You sure? You were struggling with this page yesterday. There's no hurry. Truly, there isn't."

"Papa was feeling good and he helped me with them last night," and with no little pride, Miss Marin added, "I've memorized entire chapters of the Bible. I think I can keep straight a list of twenty words."

"Right," Davy turned and faced Miss Marin, his leg folded in front of him. He reviewed the reader with one hazel eye and watched Miss Marin with his other.

Davy selected a word he thought would trip her up. "Spell 'union'."

Miss Marin slyly smiled and recited. "U-N-I-O-N".

"Good. Now write it."

"Write it?"

She wasn't prepared for that. Her golden-brown eyes popped open in protest. Next, she tried to cute her way out of his instruction, although, Davy wasn't sure if she was completely aware of her adorable actions.

"That's right." He handed her the slate and slate pencil.

"Davy," Miss Marin was unsure.

"You can do it!" Davy repeated what Mr. Harrison had told him when he asked Davy to reach into the mare's womb and push the foal back.

Miss Marin hunched over and etched out the letters with Davy's encouragement. She dutifully returned the slate for Davy's review.

"Well, you're really close, but the 'n's are backward."

"They are?"

"Yeah, but I knew what it was, and so would anyone else, so, it's fine."

"But it's not perfect."

Davy rubbed his knee. "Perfection is overrated. Sometimes just getting it done is enough."

Miss Marin frowned and looked at the slate. "The letters look fine to me."

Davy then rewrote the 'n's under hers to show her the difference.

"Oh," She traced her finger over the chalk markings.

Davy tried his best not to make a big deal about it. "Reading is a skill. Like pie-baking. I'm sure there are other things you do that I would have a hard time at."

Miss Marin glanced over at Henrietta and then back to him. She looked like she wanted to tell Davy something but decided against it.

"Should we do another word?"

Miss Marin shrugged an affirmative.

Davy picked up the reader again. "Can you write 'bonnet'?"

Miss Marin wiped the slate clean and very slowly wrote her answer. Davy averted his eyes to give her room to think. He saw Henrietta inch her way back to her trough as he waited for Miss Marin to submit her answer. She wrote "B-O-N-E-T". Davy praised her for getting her 'n' straight, but then he put the slate down and asked. "Can you spell it aloud?"

"Sure Davy," Miss Marin then replied, "B-O-N-N-E-T"

"That's fantastic!" Miss Marin beamed to Davy encouragement as he then made light of the missing letter on the slate. "It's just that you forgot one of the 'n's when you wrote it."

"I did not."

"I'm sorry," and Davy showed her the slate, having written the word correctly underneath.

"That doesn't look right to me either," Miss Marin defended herself. "Let me see the book, please."

Davy reluctantly handed over the reader and Miss Marin found the word on the page. She compared the number of letters from the page to what she had written.

Davy tried not to audibly sigh as she frowned.

"Why does it need two 'n's anyway?"

"I dunno, that's just how you spell it."

Frustrated, she took the book and threw it. The book landed in the pig pen, just short of Henrietta. Davy ignored Miss Marin's sourness and indicated with his eyes that she should go get her book. Miss Marin only sat up stiffer.

Henrietta, on the other hand, was pushing the book with her snout, trying to get it as close as she could to the humans. She oinked "come and get it" when she could push it no further. Miss Marin wouldn't let go of her bruised pride and Davy eventually stood up and retrieved the book from the helpful sow.

"Thanks, Henrietta."

The pig had already trotted off to her pool of mud.

Davy returned to his spot and sat next to Miss Marin. Miss Marin seemed ashamed. She looked between Davy and the sow with an uncertain expression.

"I'm sorry I got mad." She took the book from Davy and wiped the cover with her apron.

"You're entitled to get mad," Davy permitted. "It's not you. You're smart. It's me. I'm not a teacher. You need a real one."

"Davy, you're a fine teacher, really. And I've decided that I don't need reading," but Miss Marin sounded defeated. "I don't even know why I wanted to know how. I really just want to be a groom and you don't need to know how to read to be that."

"A groom?"

Miss Marin nodded and stared into the corners of the stable, smiling at what she saw.

"Yes, I think I'd be a good one. Just like Papa."

Davy scratched his head. _A groom? Seriously, a groom?_

Since Anne had returned home from Summerside, Green Gables had been filled with talks about her wedding to Gilbert. When she wasn't sewing, Anne often sat with her journal sketching out timelines and writing invitations and vows. He didn't know much about weddings but he was fairly sure that only the man could be a groom.

"You can't be a groom though," Davy finally told Miss Marin.

"Davy! Of course, I can!"

"But it's not right for a girl to be a groom." Davy rolled his eyes to the absurdity. "I don't know why you'd even want to be a groom when you'd be extra pretty as a bride."

Miss Marin sharply inhaled. Her eyes were a puzzle to him, so he continued his explanation.

"Can I show you what I mean?" He was searching his pockets for his handkerchief and grimaced when he realized he neglected to bring his. "You don't have a white hankie on you, do you?"

Miss Marin expression said "no".

"Let me see here. I'll just use my own hand and you'll have to imagine it as a veil." Davy picked up Miss Marin's soft, brown hand. He straightened her fingers and pointed them down with his other hand.

"Now, look how nice and deep your color is with my white hand over yours?" Miss Marin audibly swallowed and she seemed confused. "You just have to use your imagination. I know it's weird for me to say these things, but Anne's been talking nonstop about her wedding dress and her clothes. Things rub off if you hear it over and over again."

"You...you think I'm pretty?" Miss Marin's voice was barely a whisper.

"All brides are pretty," Davy shrugged.

But Miss Marin smiled harder and spoke more confidently. "No, you said I would be _extra_ pretty as a bride, so you must think I'm _always_ pretty." Her eyes were dancing at him now, sparkling like topaz gemstones.

 _Crap!_

"Davy," Miss Marin smirked. "When I said I want to be a groom, I meant that I want to be a stable groom. Not a bridegroom. You know, take care of horses. Like you did this morning."

"Oh!" There was no backtracking now. "You would be good at that. I thought you went crazy there for a second. A groom, what a preposterous thought!"

"Can you spell 'preposterous'?" Miss Marin teased.

"No," Davy truthfully chuckled. They sat for a few more moments, the spelling lesson forgotten. Davy's heart was still beating rapidly, thinking over their discourse when he remembered that she wanted to give up their little school.

"Please don't give up trying to learn to read. Promise me. I want that dream for you, and I'll help you when it gets hard."

"Alright, but Davy?"

"Um?"

"You can let go of my hand now."

* * *

"So, Anne, have you written anything lately?" Mrs. Blythe asked her future daughter-in-law.

The question caused Anne to be careless with her sewing and she pricked her finger and drew a spot of blood. Helen chuckled at Anne's jolt of pain. The apples of Helen's cheeks were plump and Anne's attention was torn. Should she lash at Helen for making fun of her hemming mishap or answer the question Mrs. Blythe so politely asked?

Gilbert's mother continued talking as Anne chose to nail Helen with her wide-eyed, _H_ _ow dare you?_ stare.

"I did love writing my mother that her grandson was marrying a published authoress!" Mrs. Blythe's pride in Gilbert's choice for a spouse was obvious and Anne couldn't help the smile that floated over her own face.

"Oh, I haven't written anything for the longest while!" Anne finally offered. She was so busy sewing her hands actually would cramp on her making fine embroidery impossible. Luckily, Marilla was doing most of that. Marilla was renewing a lot of old interests in the wake of perfect eyesight. "Not that I don't want to write, but, it's just it takes time and the cooperation of the muses. My attempts with them are so sparse now, it is no wonder they have abandoned me for other conduits. Orphaned again I should say."

Anne tried to make a joke of it, of being an orphan, but its reception fell flat.

Helen stood and headed to the kitchen where Katherine and Miss Marin worked on Miss Marin's reading. Katherine insisted it was a lost cause to teach her how to sew, but instead engrossed herself in finding a solution for Miss Marin's reading issue.

"You're not an orphan anymore, Anne." Mrs. Blythe kindly spoke. "Not for a long time."

Mrs. Blythe had asked Anne a few days ago to start calling her "Mother" or "Mom". Anne could only reply that she would need to think about it.

"Anne?"

Ignoring a strangeness in her chest and the lingering pain in her finger, Anne returned her attention to the woman that gave Gilbert his hazel eyes. She was his mother and therefore would be her mother too. The logic was sound from her point of view, but Anne didn't know how to call her 'mother' when Marilla herself wouldn't let her call her 'aunt'. Anne wanted to form the word, could feel the insides of her mouth scoop to the 'mmm' sound. Utter out 'mother _'_ or even 'Mother Blythe' she could not, but in her heart, she really wanted to honor Geraldine's request.

"Yes?" Anne finally said. Mrs. Blythe face fell a tad not to hear the word, or maybe, it was only Anne's imagination.

"I had a letter from Gilbert. He's finding his work challenging. He visits the men on the grade. Helps them with their hurts mostly, and refers them to the company doctor when needed. Drunkenness seems to be a real problem. I assume he wrote you too?"

Anne nodded but most of what Gilbert wrote was for her eyes only.

"Yes, we've corresponded. I am a little worried. He doesn't seem to have found a friend yet and his old roommate is also there, so, he's not very happy right now."

"Dr. Felder went to the railway too?" Mrs. Blythe asked. "I know it was a great relief he got to graduate. We all chipped in and bought him a present."

"Things would be better if Eugene were there, but he's not," Anne said. "It's Marcus Trimble, Gilbert's other roommate that transferred out of Redmond."

"Oh, well—he didn't seem like a bad sort from what I recall. I was surprised when Gilbert told me he left school so abruptly."

Anne squirmed. Gilbert never told his parents the circumstances around Marcus' departure. If he had said what type of man Marcus really was, a cad that frequented brothels, and one that encouraged Gilbert to do the same, Mrs. Blythe wouldn't have had that particular opinion. Marcus Trimble was a bad sort. And to be honest, Gilbert had interfered with Trimble's engagement. The tension between Gilbert and Marcus escalated uncomfortably until one day, Gilbert came back from class to find out he was gone. Anne could tell from Gilbert's recent letters there was still animosity to resolve and she urged Gilbert not to use his bilocation magic. What would happen if Marcus discovered Gil's body in a dormant state?

Helen came back from the kitchen where she had interrupted Katherine's lesson to borrow Miss Marin. She needed to make a few alterations to Miss Marin's new dress. In addition to Anne's wedding things, the ladies were also united for a charitable cause. Gilbert had asked Helen to make Miss Marin a nice, black dress and Helen took it upon herself to have four dresses made instead. Three fashionable black dresses of various weights for her day to day and the fourth dress in a pretty lavender. Miss Marin only knew about the light purple dress, which was serving as a template to the others.

Helen showed Anne her adjustment to the bodice. Later on, at Green Gables, Anne would copy the adjustment on the three other dresses. They were hiding the black dresses as to not upset Miss Marin with thoughts of her father's pending death.

"Anne, on the cashmere, you might have a hard time fluting these gathers, if so, let me know and I'll stop by Green Gables and help you out. Marilla's sewing machine is capable but I've noticed she prefers plain styles and there's a fancy technique to it."

"Are you sure you have time?" Anne pondered. Helen was still busy drafting patterns her European enterprise with Charlie Sloane, not to mention their tag-team partnership bringing customers to the Avonlea Telephone Exchange.

"I'll make time," Helen reported. "This is likely the dress she'll wear at her father's funeral. His bad days are out-numbering his good."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

Anne was not surprised though.

More than once Davy had returned to Green Gables completely crestfallen, usually, it involved Mr. Marin's seizures. He didn't say much about it at the supper table, even if Mrs. Lynde pushed for details. Privately, Davy had told Anne that Mr. Marin was struggling to remember things. He had forgotten he had a daughter one day and Davy had to tell Mr. Blythe. The Blythes were considering boarding them as Mr. Marin needed more help than what Miss Marin could handle.

"What will happen to Miss Marin when he passes?" Anne asked.

Helen and Mrs. Blythe looked at one another as if they shared the same thought. Helen spoke up first, "I've decided to take her as my ward, but only if she wants to. It won't be legal, but, we have things in common and Mr. Marin seems pleased when I asked him if I might. It will only be for a few years and I'll get a taste of motherhood. I probably won't ever have my own child."

"John and I have already told Miss Marin not to worry, that she is always welcomed here," Mrs. Blythe winked at her niece, "You too."

Helen's interest in Miss Marin surprised Anne greatly. Katherine had not mentioned anything about it when they were home together at Green Gables. The way she understood it, once Katherine completed her secretarial course, she and Helen would board together. Anne cut her thread and frowned. She had a hunch that Katherine did not know Helen's intent to take a ward.

* * *

Davy Keith never complained about walking Miss Marin home to New Halifax, even if it was impractical. It was a mile there from work and two more miles to Green Gables. Seeing Miss Marin home was his reward after a long day. Often he was too tired to talk, but Davy had grown more comfortable with the silence and liked the hum of nature accenting their walk. In a weird way, he felt that Miss Marin said more to him by saying nothing at all.

Their hands sometimes brushed and Davy dealt with the desire to hold her hand outside of the barn. He stopped saying, "I'm sorry" when it happened. He craved to feel her fingers in his own. The crickets chirped encouragements. _Davy_ _-_ _do_ _-_ _it. Davy_ _-_ _do_ _-_ _it._ Hand holding on a public road was risky. Not just because she was colored and he was white, but also because hand holding seemed to have a lot of unwritten rules.

Davy recalled back to when he and Dora first arrived at Green Gables. One morning, Anne came downstairs from her room still in a tizzy about Gilbert's advance from the day before. "He tried to hold my hand, Marilla!" Marilla insisted Anne was no longer a child and to get over it. Davy listened between mouthfuls of porridge—his own and Dora's. Davy was shocked to learn that 'that boy' was going "pay for his forward and shockingly bold behavior."

 _Hand holding wasn't that big a deal._ Davy decided as Anne dramatically fretted into her own breakfast bowl.

The way he saw it if parents could hold the hands of their children, and girls might hold the hands of their bosom friends, why couldn't Gilbert hold Anne's hand? Anne and Gilbert were friends and Davy liked Gilbert a lot. Anne was being stupid. Davy decided then and there that if he ever felt like holding a girl's hand, he would. No fuss. But that was a six-year-old's mind at work. That was before he knew hearts were on the line.

To his own surprise, Davy's hand acted of its own accord. Her hand brushed his and he twisted his wrist just so, and their palms kissed. He kept his eyes forward. _It'_ _s not a big deal. It's not a big deal_ _._ His pulse staggered in fear of her rejection, but instead, her hand firmly responded and joy flooded his senses. He grew two inches on the spot. They held hands briefly, but it was a glorious few minutes. Ones Davy wanted to relive.

* * *

"There he is!"

The voice sounded familiar but he couldn't place the name associated with the utterance. The words snapped like a cruel whip. Davy knew he was in danger. He was standing in the thick of the woods, taking a shortcut back to Green Gables. The leafing trees choked out what little light was left in the day and the hillside terrain made it difficult to run. Davy deeply regretted leaving the road's safety.

He heard footsteps rushing up to him. It happened fast enough he never knew who gave him that first blow to his gut. He bounded forward in response to the strike and someone slipped a bag over his head. One was a lot bigger and his job was to hold Davy still. The other two hit him at will; his gut, his face, his chest.

Davy wrangled himself free, but his attempts to defend himself only made him topple down the bluff's precipice. Blinded by the bag, he hit his head hard on the limb of a tree which stopped his fall.

Davy went limp and laid very still against the incline of the hillside. When he moaned, he heard someone say, "Ah, he's alright! Aren't you nigger lover!" But they left him there to manage himself, running off before Davy had the bag removed. He had no idea who they were, but he knew why he had been targeted. At least it was him and not Miss Marin.

He bent over and vomited. Everything tasted of blood.

Slowly, he inspected his face with his hands, worried he needed Dr. Blair and another slap. It was a blessing to feel his nose and know it was still straight. He couldn't open his left eye, and for a terrifying moment, Davy thought his eyeball gone. His fingertips were slick with blood. _Had the tree gorged his eye out?_ He then found the source of his bleeding in his hair. He remembered how the branch hit him as he tumbled, stopping his fall.

* * *

Later that evening Davy sat naked in a bath of hot water behind a hung blanket trying to recover. It was a warm evening overall, and Davy didn't mind taking his bath in the barn. Marilla, Mrs. Lynde, Anne, and Katherine kept coming with buckets of heated water and Mr. Blythe added them to his bath. Davy was sullen. The night was a blur. He vaguely remembered Mr. Blythe finding him, carrying him like a small child, and loading him into his wagon. First, they went to Dr. Blair's, where his head was partly shaved and his lacerations stitched closed. Dr. Blair gave him a powder to lessen the pain and more for later. Then Mr. Blythe drove him home to Green Gables where Davy was led to the barn for the bath. Dr. Blair had telephoned Green Gables and explained what happened.

Davy was so grateful for the man's presence as the evening stretch to the midnight hour. He didn't have it in him to deal with Marilla, Mrs. Lynde or Anne hovering over him. It was only Mr. Blythe and he'd give him the space he needed.

"Well, Davy, it seems you've escaped any serious, long-lasting injury. Dr. Blair thinks you're made of rubber, you know. They didn't get you in the groin, did they?"

Davy shuddered at the thought.

"It's pretty dishonorable to hit a man below the belt," Mr. Blythe said. "Do you want to tell me exactly what happened and not that watered down version you told Blair?"

Again, Davy shook his head.

"Davy, you can't expect me to handle Marilla Cuthbert unless you give me the facts. All those ladies are waiting to carve me up like the Christmas goose. If you tell me, I think I can get them to leave you alone—mostly."

"I was takin' the shortcut home from the New Halifax fork."

"That's what you told Dr. Blair. You know that path well enough. You didn't just fall, did you?"

"No—I had help from three others, I'm pretty sure there were three."

"What else."

"They put a bag over my head so I couldn't see them."

"Cowards."

"The big one held me but I got loose and fell. I really did fall. That's how I hit the tree." Davy paused, trying to remember. "When I came to, I heard 'em call me 'nigger lover' and they took off. I never saw who they were."

John Blythe examined his protégé. For one time in his life, he was lost for words.

Davy moved his legs, sloshing the water.

"Are you ready to go in?" John pointed to the towels waiting for Davy. "You know Marilla is pacing a hole in the floor to see you."

Davy again shook his head.

"Well, you might want to try and use the soap, unless you want me to help you. You'll feel better clean."

It was a kind threat as threats go. With deliberate effort, Davy picked up the soft, slimy lye and rubbed it against his chest, instinctively avoiding the bruises. Davy's hand went under to cleanse the submerged parts of his body; his lower abdomen, privates, and legs. Mr. Blythe watched him splash water to rinse his skin. Then his fingers reached to his swollen lips. Mr. Blythe held his own breath as Davy felt the foreign lump that was his left eye. "You don't have a mirror, do you?"

"Davy, you're looking really rough right now. Those bruises are going to be a rainbow of colors as the month progresses."

"Color—this is all because of color."

"No, it's not," John answered. "It's more complicated than that. It's a festering disease, racism. It's hate. But you're not the one in the wrong, Davy. Rest tonight knowing you did nothing wrong. I about had a heart attack myself when I found you."

Dr. Blair said it was a miracle Davy had been found. He was so far off the road and in the shadows of the trees. Through the throbbing pain, Davy asked, "How did you know to come looking for me?"

"Well, that's a long story, but let's just say a little bird told me."

Davy stood and wrapped one of Marilla's soft, white towels around his middle. John distracted himself as Davy slowly moved out of the tub; he was counting his bruises. _One, two, three, four…_

"Please don't tell Miss Marin," Davy requested as he attempted to dress. "That I was beaten up because I like her."

"Son, let me help you there," Davy managed to get his drawers on, ignoring the pain he felt when he bent forward. John assisted with getting his arms into his nightshirt. "Miss Marin has got her own ways of figuring things out. She's too curious for her own good. Just worry about yourself right now."

* * *

Marilla walked into the kitchen where Davy sat and showed him what arrived at Green Gables that glorious Sunday afternoon. It had been almost two weeks since the incident and Davy's convalescence was coming to a close.

"Another pie?"

"I don't know how that girl managed it, but she found enough ripe strawberries to make one." Marilla shook her head. "That's nothing short of a miracle this early in the season. She's really resourceful and I should ask how she does her crust. I've never seen such consistency. Do you want a piece now?"

Davy shook his head, instead, he pulled the pie closer and examined it for himself with his good eye. The wafting scent was delightful. "Why does she keep making me pie?"

"Why indeed?" Marilla perked her eyebrow high. The quirky movement of that arched brow metered his own blush. The higher and more expressive her face, the warmer his face felt. Embarrassed over his own obvious bashfulness, Davy basically admitted to Marilla he was in the throngs of teen-aged puppy love.

"Davy, we need to talk about you and Miss Marin," Marilla braved up. "I've wanted to say something for a while and I wish I had before you were attacked. Maybe if I had, you might not have been harmed."

"Marilla, we don't need to discuss it." He knew her thoughts without her saying it. "You're going to tell me to stop seeing her."

Marilla exhaled heavily. "Actually—I'm not." But then she held up her hand as Davy perked up. "I do not like it, it's not how I was raised, but—I've decided I'm not going to stop you."

Marilla joined Davy at the table where they stared at the lattice crust pie some more. It took Davy a minute to absorb what Marilla said.

"You're not going to forbid me?"

"No," Marilla replied. "Now, maybe three pies ago I would have said something different, it's ... Oh Goodness. Where is Anne when you need just the right word?"

Davy grinned a tad. Anne always had just the right word for any situation. That was her gift, not theirs.

"Tell me about her, Davy. Does she have a name other than Miss Marin?"

Davy chuckled to himself. "She won't tell me."

"Well, that's a high and mighty outlook on herself, can't even share her name with you."

"It doesn't bother me," Davy explained. "It's almost sweet, her reason. She wants to be a 'proper Southern lady'. Mr. Marin told me he was raised to always refer to the young ladies as 'Miss'. She has so little, I figured this is something I can give her."

"She might be playing coy with you."

"I don't think she is," Davy answered. "The reason why I was beaten up was because we were holdin' hands. That's not coy. Kinda the opposite."

Marilla then asked, "Do you know who attacked you?"

"There were three of them. They slipped a bag on my head. I recognized the voice of one person, but, I can't put a face to it."

Marilla bit her tongue to not interrupt him. She knew this story from John, but she wanted to hear it from Davy directly.

"They called me a 'nigger lover' before they left me. I was seeing stars. I hardly remember the night actually, but I remember hearing that."

"Davy," Marilla spoke as calmly as she could but inside she felt that same crying rage she first felt when she saw him on John Blythe's wagon. His head was wrapped in white bandages and his shirt was drenched with blood. He could barely talk and John recruited Anne and Katherine to restrain her from attending to her son. "Don't let those bullies win, Davy. I don't see how holding a colored girl's hand warranted what happened to you. I thought about telling you to stop walking this path you've taken, but, truthfully, I would prefer that you stand your ground, even if it also means standing up to me. Turn the other cheek**, Davy."

Davy was confused. "You want me to be beaten up again?"

"No, of course not. What a silly conclusion—but our current minister is a dullard so I see how it was made. It is an act of defiance to bear insults patiently." Marilla stood and softly touched his hair, trying to remember the precocious boy he once was. "I may not agree, but, some things are more important than my approval. And this is one of them."

 **to be continued**

* * *

*Genesis 10  
**Matthew 5:38-40


	25. Harvest (Part 1)

Timeline - _Anne of Windy Poplars_  
The summer between _The Second Year_ and _The Third Year.  
_

* * *

 **Chapter 25: Harvest (Part 1)**

 _Mid-June_

 _Gilbert_ John _Blythe!_

 _Dearest!_

 _How could you use your magic when I told you not to? It is a miracle that Marcus didn't catch you! And yes, I know how you like to help children, but really Gilbert, you must think a bit about keeping up the pretense of being normal. Feigns do take effort on your part. Oh, how you worry me sick now that Eugene cannot keep tabs on you!_

 _Speaking of Eugene and feigns, what of this news of Ella Hammond?!_

 _I swear, I fell out of my chair when I read it. Mrs. Lynde gave me the strangest look and "tsk-tsk". (Rachel really does "tsk-tsk" in the most grating way, have you noticed? It actually crawls under your skin and takes residence. Even as I write, I itch from it.) But Eugene kept that one to himself, didn't he? I had no idea he liked Ella. I thought he had a thing for Helen? Didn't you say that he proposed to her in one of our Windy Poplars moments together? I think that was the night we almost.… Oh, Goodness! Now I really am getting distracted! See how I miss you! But I'm sure you did say Eugene proposed to Helen before we broke down laughing. Even now I can't stop laughing at how overconfident Eugene can be! He knows Helen is peculiar! Still, it would be nice if he could find himself a woman to take on his affections. He still has a lot to give, yet, I don't see Ella or Helen in that role._

 _Stop it Gilbert. Just stop it, you infuriating man! I can hear your teasing disapproval. Everyone should have the happiness we do. I'm not going to stop match-making!_

 _More seriously, I have to question the accuracy of Marcus' revelation as he was so drunk at the time. Did he really say that Ella left for Baltimore to go to Eugene? I am inclined to think as you do, that there's more to this than what meets the eye._

 _I'm wasting away from lack of your company. This summer is so dreadfully dull without you here._

 _Thank you for suggesting that I ask your mother to help with the wedding planning. She jumped at the chance. I suppose I can't blame her though, seeing as you are her one and only. Of course, she wants the very best. As a result, she's a very, very motivated taskmaster!_

 _Oh—should I forget I'll mention it now—I've decided that I will not call her "mother". I didn't come by this lightly so please don't be disappointed! When the time is right, we will call your mother "Grandma" and we will call Marilla "Aunt Marilla" whether she wants it or not. I will wear the "mother" banner and you will be called "father", unless you prefer "Pop" or "Daddy" or something else. Is that alright with you, dearer than dear, Gil? This way the children aren't confused, but you understand why I cannot call your mother "mother". Don't you?_

 _We're finally done going through all your things and boxing them up for later. I didn't know you were such a magpie! Honestly, I'm impressed but perhaps not a good way. But, I am getting more used to the idea of leaving Avonlea and I started to pack things of my own too._

 _Mrs. Lynde and I had a nice talk about leaving home. Did you know that her Thomas was a great deal older and how scared she was to move away from home? She then went on and on about the telephone! "That blasted, noise making box!" she used to call it. Yet, she's turned her thinking now. She said, "Oh, it won't be as bad for you Anne Shirley! Gilbert will get a telephone and once the babies come, you'll pray for loneliness!" I think she's right though. She usually is, it's just her manner of delivery. It is lovely to have a telephone so moving away no longer feels as desolate and I can truly focus on just being with you._

 _(Several paragraphs omitted.)_

 _As far as babies go, Dora is up to seven hundred diapers! She's walking herself quite thin from house to house, looking for babies to change. She's meeting so many women of all ages. Dare I say that Marilla's condition for marriage is brilliant? She's really getting quite the education and Dora doesn't seem quite as keen to marry young. Yet, she's still so stubborn she doesn't realize she can change her mind. Ralph Andrews would wait, don't you think?_

 _And Davy is back working on your folk's farm. Dr. Blair said he needed time away to recover from "falling in the woods". His eye has been a tremendous worry for all of us, but we're assured he'll make a full recovery. (But how I wish you were here!) We wonder who might have done it. Davy still says he doesn't know for sure._

 _I gave Katherine your contact information. Something about a boarding house with a reduced rate. Overall, the communication between Helen and Katherine has not improved. Katherine is returning to her old, brittle and sarcastic manners, but not with me. I think her taking a week to go to Kingsport to find a reputable boarding house for next term was wise. Even if it left me teaching Miss Marin. Not that I mind, I don't. I rather teach than sew anyway._

 _Helen is super busy right now. She may not have time to write. She helps nurse Mr. Marin when she's home. She is to be Miss Marin's guardian when he passes. She's still working on those mourning dresses. What a bittersweet beauty. Even Marilla has helped out by making colorful little smocks and aprons for her to wear. She says she's practicing her old skills. She wants to sew my wedding gown._

 _Helen's still selling contracts for the Avonlea Telephone Exchange or ATE. She and Charlie are a good team and are making a killing. Helen butters up the customer they have targeted, and then, if necessary, Charlie comes in and closes the sale. A lot of old-timers won't do business with a woman. And sometimes they do it the other way around, Charlie butter ups the potential customer and then Helen comes in and seals the deal. They split all commissions. But I do see why Katherine feels a bit displaced right now. Helen's world didn't collapse when she lost her sewing business. It actually blossomed on her. And see, you were worried for nothing._

 _With many kisses for you and all my love,_

 _Your Anne-girl_

 _P.S. Darling Gil! Mrs. Lynde just told me that Eugene wrote her a while ago to inquire if she might be his housekeeper when he moved to Baltimore. Did he mention anything to you about this? Do you suppose this is why Ella went to Baltimore? For a job?_

* * *

Miss Marin stood on the small, movable step in her new, lavender dress for one final fitting. Helen Blythe was on the floor, setting a crisp hem. The younger lady felt awkward watching a full grown, white woman working at her feet and fought her unease. She needed the dress and the one Helen was making would last a long time. She could tell just from touching the material. The fabric was as durable as it was pretty. The dress was flattering too. But it wasn't the dress that made her feel odd. It was the sensation of being cared for and having a plan for the future. Once the reaper came to harvest her father's soul, she would be under Helen's care and guidance.

That was all right with the young lady. Judging by the embellishments on the dress and the strength of its construction, she would be looked after well enough.

The other Blythes cared about her too. Gilbert gave up his room so the Marins could board at the Blythe home. Her Papa had the comfortable guest room on the main floor. It wasn't as fancy as Preacher Wright's guest bedroom, but it was large. There were two beds. At first, when Miss Marin had seen the second bed, she had assumed she would be sharing the room with her father, but instead, she found out she would share a bed with Helen in Gilbert's old room. She didn't say anything at the time, but secretly, she was glad to know she'd have a place where she could hide her tears from her Papa's eyes.

Her only complaint about the upstairs room was it was too quiet. She missed her father's deep breathing. His gentle, even wheeze lulled her to sleep. Helen talked when she slept and nothing she said made sense. She spoke of dories and tragic love. "Trance talk" is how Helen explained it. Miss Marin never received any sort of clarification. She was told, "Pay it no mind."

Miss Marin missed her old neighbor, Margo White. The black woman would knock every day, touching base on her father's health without being too obvious about it. Margo insisted that Miss Marin come and see her from time to time and try not to lose her sweet ways. She did give the Blythe's an allowance that they weren't a bunch of "crazy whities" like the nearby Boulters. The only sad part about moving away was there would be no more walks home with Davy. But that was alright too when she searched for silver linings. Davy had been beaten up on account of her. She wasn't going to let that happen to him again. She shied away whenever he got close now. She didn't know how to explain.

"I think I'm done here. Just need to find the strays." Helen lightly touched the floor looking for runaway pins. The younger lady leaned forward a bit from her perch, peering over her full, lavender skirt for the sharp, shiny objects.

"I don't see any."

Helen sat back on her heels, her blue-cotton skirt spread out across her knees. "Neither do I. And I don't feel any either. I guess that means we're done." Standing and stretching a tad, "Do you want to go show the others what you look like? Maybe even Davy? I'll be more than happy to call for him."

Davy was working hard in the field, plowing new furrows with an ox's help. Later on, Mr. Blythe would show Davy how he sows seed into the fresh cut ruts. Miss Marin supposed that at fall they would harvest together too. Davy didn't have time for her—really. It was just as well. If he had time for girls, he should find a nice white girl, not her. She could hide many things, but not the fact she wasn't white.

Helen moved her charge towards the full-length mirror so she could see how she looked. It wasn't a fancy dress, but the fit was lovely and the pastel hue set off her tea colored skin. Miss Marin caught the golden glint of her eye in the looking-glass. She was pretty for a colored girl.

Miss Marin shrugged off her self-admiration almost embarrassed at the air she gave herself.

"How does it feel?"

Miss Marin rubbed her sides. "I'm not used to this thing yet."

Helen knew immediately what she was referring to. "I know they're rather burdensome things, but they do help set off your figure."

"I don't have anything to set off though." Comparatively, it was true. Helen was a plump mess of womanly curves. She was a young girl still developing breasts and had yet to experience menstruation. She had just turned fourteen and she was angular.

"Ah, but you do," Helen smiled. "A good corset will help you make the most of what you've got. What did your mother look like? Was she thin and willowy like Miss Shirley or was she more like me? Stout curves everywhere?"

"More like you. But Papa says I take after the Marins, my coloring aside."

"What does your Grandmother look like?"

"I don't know. She's back in Cuba. I never met her. Papa's father hated the fact he married my Mama, so he left for Canada."

"Well, I think we should show your Papa how grown up you are," Helen suggested. "It will be a couple days before I can finish the hem, then you can wear the dress all the time. Wouldn't it be nice to give him a sneak peek?"

She glanced back at her full-length reflection as Helen adjusted some tucks around her waist. Miss Marin wasn't a vain person, but she did think she looked nicer than usual. "Well, maybe just Papa."

"All right, I'll go get him." Helen's eyes danced. "You and he can have a nice tea together."

* * *

 _Late June_

 _Dear Davy,_

 _I'm sorry for not writing sooner and not bi-locating to see how you are. It takes a while for letters to reach me now that I'm at the end of the line and bi-location to Avonlea is a tricky business from so far away. And now Anne insists that I don't try anything magical while I'm here. But she's right on that part. Your sister is very smart. Might have saved me a spot of trouble had I heeded._

 _So, how are you doing? I know what happened to you. I got about ten letters from various people in the last few weeks telling me all about your "fall in the woods", but no letter from you. For shame Davy—I'm your brother now and I fully intend to get to the bottom of the three-to-one fight you suffered, with or without your help. What happened to you is a crime. The constable should be involved._

 _In addition to all your bruises, Dad said you got a few stitches in your head and a strange haircut from where they shaved. Again, I can't tell you how sorry I am I wasn't there to help you through that. Although I wouldn't have been able to heal your concussion, I might have spared you the stitches and healed your eye. Now you have to walk around with your head partially shaved. Your hat will get good use, except when you must take it off for a lady._

 _And how is your Miss Marin?_

 _You can tell me exactly how things are. You're holding down the fort for me, so please, do not spare me any complaint._

 _Just so you know, as a matter of practicality, and partly to commiserate with you, I shaved my mustache. I feel almost naked without it and my ugly scar is in plain view. It's funny how a little change affects your esteem, so you have been in my thoughts._

 _So, let's have a contest, shall we? The first to get their hair back wins._

 _Your brother,_

 _Gilbert_

* * *

 _Early July_

 _Dear Gilbert,_

 _You shaved your mustache!? **Why!** Why would you do that? Yours was fantastic! It was so big and hairy! And the way you pointed the ends and curled them was super impressive. I suppose you can grow it back as you say, but to shave it off to start over—well, that wasn't your brightest move. _

_But as for other things around here—I'm no good at letter writing. Miss Marin is very kind to me and I am kind to her, but, we've haven't held hands since I was beat up. Not even in the barn. I would like to but she avoids it. I don't know what to do but give her space. Her father is pretty sick now and any good moment he has I want her to spend it with him. If she needs a break from that, then I'm here. I don't know what more there is to say about the situation, other than it's really sad to watch._

 _Your brother,_

 _Davy_

 _P.S. I'm seeing the same fox in the woods when I walk to and from your folks. Do you know of any dens near your place? I wonder if there are cubs?_

* * *

Davy Keith ran the back of his hand over his forehead and stole a minute to look up at the sky. The clear day was choking with gray. It wasn't a cloud exactly. More like a dark veil draped between the sun and the earth. The air was dewy and fresh with salt from the ocean. Davy didn't need to be told to head for the stables. He knew the pattern of a thunderstorm. He unhitched the ox where he had been plowing and lead the docile beast back.

He kept his stride long and steady, doing his best to mimic the gait of Mr. Blythe and Mr. Marin. The ox didn't know any better as Davy pulled the rope that was connected to the bit. Along the way Mr. Marin greeted Davy. Davy tried not to look surprised to see him working. The older man was now more or less permanently infirmed. Hank held out his hand and Davy took it to mean that he wanted to take over the rope.

"You havin' a good day, today?" Davy asked forcing his voice low but not uncomfortably so.

"By the sweat of your brow thou shall eat*," Hank answered Davy.

Davy knew Mr. Marin was quoting the Bible, but his response didn't fit his question. _Maybe his thinking_ _is_ _off-kilter_ _?_ Testing the theory, Davy looked over Mr. Marin's gaunt appearance. He looked sick and frail. Davy thought he should be resting or spending time with Miss Marin instead. When the rope passed, Davy couldn't help but notice how the older man's hands were nothing but bones.

Hank saw some of Davy's concern and explained, "That just means, we—as menfolk—are doomed to work the rest of our lives. We live by our labor, and as I feel good enough today to work, I do. God's decree and all."

"There's also a season for resting," Davy suggested, surprised at his own Biblical counterpoint**. He didn't mean to sound impertinent to the older man. He just thought if he felt good Mr. Marin was wasting his time not being with his daughter.

"I'll rest soon enough. Walk with me a spell, won't you?"

Davy suffered several intense sideways glances and was starting to feel self-conscious.

Mr. Marin then cleared this throat. "Davy—we probably should talk. My girl feels really sore about what happened to you. I feel bad too. I wish I could say it gets easier, but, I'd be lying. There will always be bigots. Some blows are physical, but the ones that really hurt are the ones that sneak up on you, like a turn in the weather. I had an employer that wouldn't pay me a white man's wage because on account of my colored loved ones."

"Mr. Blythe's not like that."

"No, he isn't. But many are. There shouldn't even be pay grades based on skin color. Take that telephone company. They hired a whole bunch of menfolk from New Halifax to put up the poles and string the wire. Dangerous work. Those men aren't getting paid what a white crew would. But I'm telling you this so you understand better what happened to you. People hang onto racism as it makes a market of cheap labor. People will fight mixing whites and blacks, not because it makes sense, but because of dollars and cents."

Davy's stomach flipped as he considered Mr. Marin's experiences. He knew that Mr. Marin's father disowned him over his wife and child. If there was someone that understood what Davy went through, it was him. "I never even thought about that."

"Well, you need to," Mr. Marin stayed cool. "I guarantee you that Penny is thinking of such things. She's worried for you. She's seen me cheated and hurt more than once. She thinks you deserve better than what she has to offer."

Davy sniffed involuntarily. Miss Marin's pulling away from him made a lot more sense. She was wrong in her decision, but he could see how she made it. "I don't care, sir. What those thugs did isn't right and it's not going to change me." He hoped his earnestness would circle back to his daughter and reassure her.

"Don't be afraid to tell her how you feel then," Mr. Marin advised, "She can handle it. Trust me there... I…" Mr. Marin choked up as he recalled how beautiful his daughter was in the new lavender dress. "I'm really proud of the woman she's becoming. Real proud."

Davy followed Mr. Marin into the weathered stable where they were welcomed by one hungry sow. Henrietta initially got excited to see human legs approach, but then gave them a disappointing and quite vocal review once she realized no slop bucket was with them. Mr. Marin led the ox back to the partially covered paddock and Davy loitered by the doors, noticing all the other animals seemed calm as the storm approached. The thunder told him the storm was six miles off now.

Mr. Marin returned with his hands deep in his pockets and gave Davy a long, hard look.

"David?" Mr. Marin spoke his name slow and deliberate. "I want you to know it's all right with me. Should you ever wonder, just know, it's all right."

Davy wasn't sure what Mr. Marin was alluding to and peered back at him with a question over his face. Mr. Marin chuckled and slapped Davy on his back when passing. "You'll figure it out one day. Let's get back to work."

* * *

 _Mid-July_

 _Dear Davy,_

 _I do wish you'd just tell me what happened, and who you think might have done it. I am afraid to say it's someone you know. That's why they knew to look in the woods for you, and why they put a bag over your head. But if you rather not tell me, for whatever reason, I can accept that too. Just know I am glad you're alright._

 _I'm sorry Miss Marin is not wanting to hold your hand. Some women are like that. They get nervous. Exercise patience—which it sounds like you are. Bring her flowers. They are certainly available in that wood you cross. Being available to listen is the best gift of all. Relax. You're fourteen. Be glad you didn't get a slate to your head._

 _My mustache is back to some degree, but I'm not going to grow it out like before. I'm going to keep it shorter and forgo the curling and mustache grease. I'm lucky that my facial hair is thick. All I want is something to cover this scar._

 _Did I win our contest?_

 _Your brother,_

 _Gilbert_

* * *

 _Late July_

 _Dear Katherine,_

 _Those accommodations sound fine as long as give me the occasional assist in magical travel, otherwise, curfews might be an issue. My hours at the hospital will be unpredictable. But if I can come and go magically, it won't matter and I promise to be fair about it and help you see Helen from time to time._

 _Thank you for the referral, I'll write the boarding house right away, but you shouldn't feel as if you should leave so soon. Stay in Avonlea at Green Gables a bit longer! I like knowing you're around to help out, plus, I think Helen might miss you quite a bit. Everyone says she's busy but I am sure she would lament terribly if you were to move now instead of next month._

 _Sincerely,_

 _Gilbert_

* * *

 _Early August_

 _Bertie!_

 _I normally write a more cheerful letter but I'm swamped. I don't know how it happened, but I'm suddenly a nurse to Mr. Marin, and he has a lot of physical problems, the most frustrating is his inability to speak clearly anymore. I understand him through my sixth sense, so I suppose that's how I ended up in the position I am in. Luckily, your mother and Aunt Sarah help too. So, it's not quite all on me, but you can understand why I have the bigger part._

 _Now, as far as Davy goes and your questions, I don't even know where to start. Yes, I know who hurt Davy and no, I'm not going to tell anyone. Not Davy and especially not you! Considered that bug of curiosity squashed. But I will tell you that Davy suspects the correct people, but he has no proof so he wisely says nothing. My visions hardly count as proof. Oh, don't frown. Making such a claim is what got our ancestors burned at the stake or drowned in the river. You can't just go around pointing out crimes without valid (or what counts as valid) evidence. Didn't your experience with Marcus Trimble teach you that?_

 _I'm rather more distracted by my own problems. Katherine is upset with me right now and she has a good reason. She does understand why I'm interested in taking Miss Marin as a ward, but, she's not supporting it very much. She is stiff and cold with me. I feel like I put her on the back burner and maybe I did. When you have this seeing power you get so distracted by all the lives around you. I'm worried I'm going to lose what little I have regained if she stops loving me. But maybe that's the problem. I'm more worried about having powers than her. Everything feels backward. It's no wonder I haven't regained seeing the future._

 _Would you be able to help me smooth this out? Especially when the fall term starts. Isn't your boarding house is next to hers? It won't be that hard to talk me up a tad, will it?_

 _Your adorable cousin,_

 _Helen_

* * *

Helen rested next to Miss Marin and tried not to notice the movements she made. The girl's insomnia was easy to explain. She was rightfully worried. Helen was worried too but not like Miss Marin. Earlier that day her father had a seizure and this time, he slipped into a coma.

Dr. Blair called on the Blythe home and gave his opinion. No one really expected he could do anything to stop the Great Destroyer. Mr. Marin received morphine which silenced his intermittent moans. Dr. Blair announced death would happen soon, if not that night, then the next. He treated Miss Marin sympathetically and extended an invitation that she could call on him at any time in the future to discuss his case. He pointed out that grief did funny things to memories, and when she was ready to handle the details of his passing, he would share them.

Dr. Blair offered to pray with her. He said he and an old friend, now passed away, used to collect miracles in their work. There were miracles all around them, they just had to have eyes to see.

Miss Marin, who believed in the power of prayer and the everlasting love the Almighty gave, thought the doctor's offer to pray was insensitive. Helen watched her eyes spark with anger and heard her thoughts as clear as if they were her own. If prayer worked then her father would be healthy, laughing at her jokes about the barnyard animals, and calling her by those corny nicknames—L'il Cent and Penny. He would be helping Davy in the fields and showing him animal husbandry. Instead, her father was languishing in a stranger's bed, his only relief coming from a shot, and just waiting to die. She tried to be kind but informed the physician that he could go home. He could pray if he liked from anywhere he pleased, but she needed to be with her father.

Miss Marin attempted to sleep in the spare room near her father until Mrs. Blythe came in and insisted she go upstairs to bed. Helen's eyes brimmed with tears as the young lady kissed her father's cheek and told him she loved him, possibly for the last time. The three Blythes needed to change her Papa's clothing. He had soiled himself and the smell proved it, but Miss Marin didn't need to see that. The three of them heard her weeping upstairs from Gilbert's old room as they worked to make her father more comfortable in his compromised condition.

Helen joined her an hour later. Miss Marin was trying to lay as quiet as her father did downstairs. Her mind quickened with a new worry. Helen discerned it from the tone of her voice and the way her hand found hers in under the cover. Helen held it, showing she was ready to hear her say whatever was troubling her.

"Miss Helen?" The shake in her voice matched the tears filling her eyes. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Of course, and you can call me Helen. Everyone close to me does."

Miss Marin took a big breath and asked boldly. "You lost your powers when someone you loved died?"

Helen gulped down her own bitter grief for Lynn. She had lost more than her powers, she had lost herself too. A witch without powers, what was she? She didn't know for the longest time. "That's right, child."

Miss Marin was quiet for a really long time and Helen thought she heard a sob embedded in her respiration.

"But you got them back?"

"Partially," Helen understood what Miss Marin was really asking. "When I figured out there was someone that loved me more than they loved themselves, they started to come back."

"Miss Brooke?"

"That's right, child."

"How?"

It was a question that Helen had oft-asked herself. "I'm not sure." Helen squeezed her hand. "My grandmother used to say love and magic are distant cousins. My guess is, when the right person in your life loves you back, anything is possible."

Miss Marin sniffed and withdrew her hand from Helen's. She pulled the cover her way, cocooning herself in the plain muslin sheet.

"I know it's hard, but you really should try and get a few hours of sleep. You don't have to worry about my magical prowess tonight, that definitely is wasted energy."

"All right," Miss Marin's troubled voice sounded.

Helen said nothing more but left a peck on the crown of her soon-to-be ward's head. A witch's blessing was better than none at all.

 **to be continued**

* * *

*Geneses 3:19  
**Ecclesiastes 3


	26. Harvest (Part 2)

Timeline - _Anne of Windy Poplars_ , _The Third Year._ Approximately, prior to chapter 1, late August or early September. _  
_

* * *

 _Content warnings: Mild sexual situation and the n-word._

* * *

 **Chapter 26: Harvest (Part 2)**

Marilla Cuthbert winced when she poured a cup of tea in front of Davy Keith. He sat in a beam of sunlight blaring in from the east window. Her "You're welcome" didn't sound like her at all. She raised a hand to block the glare to her eyes as she turned away, wondering if she were coming down with a sick-headache. Dora and Davy were too busy arguing to have noticed any difference in her timbre, but Mrs. Lynde's quick ears heard trouble on what promised to be a very busy day. She looked past the ready-for-church twins to the back of the kitchen and watched Marilla dump pain powder into her teacup.

"Marilla?" Rachel's distinct voice carried over the sparring Keiths. "If you're not feeling well, you don't have to go to the funeral. I'll stay behind with you."

Marilla waved off her longtime friend's concern. "I'll be fine, Rachel. I just need to get on top of it with one of Dr. Blair's treatments." She took a big sip before coming to the breakfast table. "I really want to go. John and Geraldine expect me and you know how I worry whenever Mrs. Sloane and Geraldine talk without us. There's always another Ladies' Aid project we end up doing as a result of their impromptu brainstorms."

The argument between Davy and Dora heated and Dora was on the receiving end of Davy's annoyed scowl. Marilla monitored them reluctantly and wished Anne hadn't left so early. Anne had a way of managing the twins when they fought. It was probably because Anne was the original hot-head.

"You shouldn't wear that. We're going to a funeral!" Davy sternly repeated to Dora. He gestured to himself, modeling his black suit. Never-mind the large, white napkin pushed into his collar covering up most of his front.

Through the buzz of a tension headache, Marilla thought Davy might be approaching handsome. His features were catching up with his changed voice and she wondered if she should budget a shaving kit for him. He was getting old enough to have some fuzz.

"You should wear your black dress. I know you have one."

"Davy, that dress is wool. It's too heavy for late August, I'll melt!" Dora's inflection on the world 'melt' made Marilla shut her eyes. Dora's voice pitched and almost squeaked like chalk on the blackboard.

Davy interrupted as only a sibling could, "Mrs. Lynde—would you please explain to Dora that wearing _yellow_ is not appropriate for a funeral."

Rachel heard Davy, but her eyes were on Marilla. Marilla was turning white.

"You two! Stop fighting! Are you blind? Marilla's not feeling well."

"I'm fine, but I'd be better if the shouting would stop from all three of you."

"Oh Marilla, I'm sorry, but you don't need to witness this, not with one of your headaches coming." Rachel stood quickly and scraped her chair across the wide floorboards. The noise made Marilla grimace again. "See?"

Davy turned to Marilla and said quietly, "I'm sorry, Marilla," as Mrs. Lynde escorted her away.

"Me too," Dora feebly tacked on, but the matrons were already out of earshot.

The twins were alone for a few minutes. Davy devoted himself to his oatmeal drizzled with new chokecherry jam and Dora buttered her biscuit. The silence was short lived.

"Have you thought any more about what I said?" Davy asked very quietly.

"No—I have not, because you're wrong."

"Dora—just tell me, where was Ralph that night?"

No verbal reply was made. Mrs. Lynde returned to the kitchen at that moment and misinterpreted the glares the twins threw at each other. She believed Davy was still upset about Dora's yellow dress.

"Stop it, you two!" Mrs. Lynde couldn't stand it. "Cherish one another, you two are alive, and Mr. Marin is gone. That poor girl has no family left. Your fight is hardly important.

"Davy, we can't have Dora fainting in her winter dress. It's late August after all. How'd you'd like to wear your wool suit when it's so hot?

"And Dora, _this_ is what comes from letting your sewing slide for your diaper project. I'm afraid Davy's right. Wearing black is traditional, and some folks get mighty offended if you take someone else's grief lightly."

"Told you!"

"Now Davy! There's no reason for that," Mrs. Lynde corrected. "If it really bothers you, Dora doesn't have to go. She can stay home with Marilla. Davy, you're the one that made friends with the Marins."

Davy bent his head down, slightly ashamed because he was glad Dora agreed to attend the funeral. He really wanted her there. He'd hoped that Miss Marin might know that she wasn't alone. They might be the youngest attending the service, but, they could give Miss Marin the best support, being almost the same age and orphans too. As nice as the Blythes were, none of them understood like they could.

A little more calmly and sympathetically, Mrs. Lynde asked, "How is your Miss Marin doin', Davy? She must be really sad."

"She's really not _my_ Miss Marin." Davy's cheeks burned, "We're friends."

Dora took pity on her brother and interceded before Mrs. Lynde spoke contrarily. "Davy—she's more your friend than ours. That's what Mrs. Lynde means." Dora stared back at their elder. "Right?"

Mrs. Lynde stayed in check, seeing that Dora was protecting Davy's soft spot. "Of course that's what I meant. Now if you excuse me, I'm going to check on Marilla."

Dora collected bowls and cups for the dishpan. Somewhere in her movements, over her swishing skirt, Davy thought he heard her say, "Ralph leaves for Queens tomorrow. I'm going to spend the afternoon with him after the funeral. So, I won't be at the Blythes when it's over. He'll pick me up at the cemetery." There was a pause as Davy heard Dora work the water pump to fill the bucket. _Squeak, squeak, squeak_. "I know you want me close, but, I can't tell Ralph 'no'. He's got a lovely picnic planned, and I can't wait to spend the afternoon alone with him."

Whenever Dora mentioned Ralph, Davy's ear grew bored. He listened only for the parts he wanted to know, and usually, Dora talked about something romantic which Davy found nauseating. Ralph Andrews was forward and presumptuous. Davy had seen them in the distance more than once, kissin' and huggin'. Dora's legs often circling his hips. He tried to ignore it. It was hard. But this time, he couldn't. If Dora can't tell him 'no'... Alarm bells sounded off in his head.

"Dora, he's not asking you to do anything you _don't_ want to do, is he?" Davy felt his heart pitch behind his ribs, hoping that Dora would be clueless to his inference. He did not like Dora's answer.

"Oh Davy," Dora uncomfortably laughed as pink blossomed over her cheeks. "Stop playing the part of the protective brother. I can handle Ralph just fine."

"Dora," For some reason, he thought the worst of Ralph, even if her answer was supposed to reassure him. _Why does_ _Ralph_ _need to be handled at all?_ "You know what I think Dora," Davy huffed. "If I can bring you proof, will you, please, _please_ , break it off with him?"

Dora was about to lash out, but Davy's earnest expression curbed whatever speech was forming in her head. She stared back, not sure if his face was more pained or sad. In a strange way, it was also beautiful, the worry over it that said her name.

"Davy," Dora said. "If you can prove it, I'll have to. You almost lost an eye, but, I honestly believe you're wrong."

* * *

Helen Blythe anxiously removed her apron, freeing her black dress to the dangers of house dust, cat hair, and food debris. Secretly, she hoped her fidgeting around the house would hasten the events of the day. Funerals were always such a sad business. It was best to stay busy but there was little left to do. The Blythe residence was in pristine order, thanks to Anne's more excellent (Cuthbert) housekeeping skills. Their departure would commence once Gilbert and Katherine arrived magically. Helen would fetch Miss Marin who was resting upstairs. The other Blythes and the soon-to-be Blythe, Anne Shirley, milled around in the kitchen arranging cookies, cakes, and pies on long tables. There was no telling how many people would come to their small luncheon after the graveside service but they were ready for a crowd.

Anne joined Helen in the parlor where Helen arranged and rearranged the needlepoint cushions.

"Helen, you're making me nervous, the way you keep changing things."

"I know," Helen crossed her arm over her front and touched her chin. "I can't make up my mind which way is better."

"It looks fine, dear!" Anne rubbed Helen's back and noticed how tight she was. Helen had taken on a lot of responsibility in a very short amount of time. "Relax, your planning will pay off. You've accounted for everything. There's nothing left but to live the day."

Helen signaled agreement with a small bob of her head.

The clocked chimed nine am. It was time. Anne looked around. No Gilbert. No Katherine.

"Where's Miss Marin?"

"I should go check on her," Helen muttered, pulling one pillow away and dropping it in a chair. "She's so upset Anne. She doesn't even want to go outside, much less the funeral. But she must, she's her father's only family. I'm going to do what I can to help her through it, but folks will want to talk with her, not me, I just hope. . . "

"Helen, if it makes you feel better, I spoke with Moody...I mean, Reverend MacPhearson yesterday," Anne chortled a bit on his new title, "and he has a beautiful eulogy planned, and Fred Wright agreed to pray with the New Halifax folks outside. It will be hot a day but at least it won't rain. Though, it's a shame that we couldn't get the elders to open the doors of the church for Marin's colored friends."

Helen snapped her blue eyes to Anne's direction, her frustrations now refreshed. Anne was sure she also saw fire brewing in those eye sockets. "I'm so mad about that. We were lucky that they agreed to allow Miss Marin into the church for her father's funeral." Hands on her hips now. "I had to show those elders Miss Marin's birth certificate, Anne! It was ridiculous rigmarole!" Helen hissed and then, somehow she turned her perturbed demeanor into a mocking laugh, "Mr. Marin was one smart cookie! He bribed the doctor when she was born. Her birth certificate says she's...

"Kate!"

Anne's body got sucked into Helen's vortex as Helen rushed to the middle of the parlor. Katherine and Gilbert materialized from Kingsport under his powers and Katherine's special focus. Helen tackled Katherine Brooke with a gigantic hug. They kissed in joyful reunion. Anne wasn't sure whose reaction was better. Katherine, whose face gave up a sweet smile that knocked years off her, or Gilbert, failing utterly at not noticing the two women so passionately embraced.

Anne didn't allow him a chance to dwell on their reunion, not when they had their own to celebrate. She didn't remember moving her feet or mimicking Helen's leap towards him, but only registered the sensation of Gilbert's hands at her waist, and their lips uniting, kissing away the bitterness of summer separation. She ached when he let her go. Later on, in church no less, Anne thought she might still be kissing Gilbert if his parents hadn't made those loud, throat clearing noises announcing their presence in the room.

Gilbert didn't care that they were caught. His father wasn't a prude. Gilbert's hand cupped her cheek as his parents tried to explain they were running late. His Anne-girl stayed next to him, hiding her blush and putting her efforts into straightening his tie.

"I like your new mustache, a horseshoe. It tickles though." Anne wriggled her nose, whispering. "I'm almost convinced you might be dashing."

Gilbert wished to kiss her again. Today was one of those days where he was sure that he was living his fantasy. How he used to dream of bringing Anne home to be his! Discovering Anne Shirley loved him was his rebirth. Her love was the catalyst for everything he was today and would be tomorrow.

Helen smoothed her skirt and stepped into the corridor. "I better go and fetch Miss Marin."

"How she's doing?" Gilbert asked. He followed Helen to the stairwell, waiting for Helen's reply.

"Bertie—she's hurting. She's lost so much." Helen's emotions swung low.

Gilbert looked up the stairs that led to his old bedroom. "Do you mind if I get her? Maybe I can help?"

"Go ahead, but, don't force the conversation you mean to have with her," Helen pleaded against Gilbert's troubled expression. "It's her right to decide how he, or anyone for that matter, should be told, if at all."

* * *

 _Well, this is a first._

Gilbert never thought he'd be knocking on his former bedroom's door seeking permission to enter. He looked around the hallway that was still very familiar to him and waited. The carpet was old and worn down, the colors muted in the middle where he and his parents had walked over the years. How odd that he could recall the day the pile was new and hard under his feet. It was a lifetime ago.

The nostalgic echo stopped when he heard the mechanical squeak of the bed. He discerned the soft pace of someone much lighter than himself moving back and forth anxiously on the other side of the door. Finally, a straining-for-control voice acknowledged his knock.

"Is it time?" _Sniff_ "I don't want to go." _Sniff_ "May I please stay? I promise to come down and make an appearance when you get back."

The agony in her voice broke his heart. He understood some of what she was suffering. According to Helen, she had lost her powers the morning she was told her father died. Two of her nightmares were made real in one shot. He had been her age when he had lost his powers, but now he was recovered. He might be able to give her hope.

"It's Gilbert—may I come in? I just want to chat, I don't know when else I'll get the chance."

No answer came but Gilbert cracked the door anyway and entered slowly, allowing Miss Marin the chance to stop him.

The room did not remember him at all. Everything that he owned that personalize his private place was packed. Anne had written him this, but seeing the results gave him pause. His bed—no, not his, but _hers_ —was moved to a new wall. The curtains were no longer practical and boyish blue, but lacy pink frills. And the bedspread matched the drapery's pastel hue. Seeing his former sanctuary like this cemented his reality. Forevermore, he'd be a visitor in Avonlea, an absent son.

Miss Marin sat at the foot of the bed, her chin tucked to her chest. Her feather-strewn straw hat rested next to her, waiting to be pinned to her head. She peered up at him. A deep, vertical line grew between her eyes as a question mark overtook her countenance. Despite the gloomy expression, Gilbert understood Davy's liking her. She was a pretty girl.

Her tea colored skin didn't make him think she was mixed race, but, a daughter from the proud Lakota tribe of the Canadian plains. He had gotten to know a few of their men over the summer. A young brave, a boy really, had broken his leg and Gilbert had to do it. Heal the boy's leg. Gilbert was discovered as a witch by that small band of warriors. His worry turned to relief, for they didn't fear his powers or use him. They were only grateful. He could never thank them enough for what they did for him in return. They protected him when it really mattered. When Marcus was close to the truth.

Gilbert sat down next to Miss Marin and she rocked a little as the mattress took on Gilbert's weight.

"You know what I am and I know what you and your father are..." Gilbert reviewed her reaction for any changes that would hint to her being uncomfortable. "We've never talked about our powers, but, I think maybe we should."

Immediately Miss Marin took a defensive posture. "Papa used to say that you and Helen are too trusting. No one else needs to know or should know, that magic is real and witches really do exist."

"Oh, I don't know if that's true," Gilbert stared straight ahead. "I'm a better man for sharing this part of me. Trusting others might be hard, but, it has its own rewards and merits." Gilbert checked her again, her face slightly defiant. "And you're right, there is also a risk. But, the right person can even make your magic stronger. I believe everyone you meet, has the ability to shape and mold your powers. It's even more so when love is involved."

Gilbert stopped for a moment to allow Miss Marin a chance to respond. She did so by stretching her leg out before her and then crossing her foot before an ankle.

"Do you know, then?"

"Yes, Helen told me. I'm sorry, Miss Marin. Witches have to stick together—thick and thin. She asked me for some advice." He nudged her a tad with his nearest hand. "I'm trying to tell you that I'm here for you too. Same as Helen."

"I knew this might happen," Miss Marin looked away from him as a few fat teardrops rolled over her lip and into her mouth. "But it's not a real loss, is it? I'm absolutely nothing compared to the magic you and Helen have. Animal charmers like me, like Papa. . . we're not important."

Gilbert shook his head in disagreement as he handed over his handkerchief to the successor of his room.

"Making friends with animals is a very important and special gift." Gilbert's sincerity was clear. "And you used your powers creatively too. You're the one that asked the foxes to escort Davy to and from Green Gables, aren't you?"

Miss Marin smirked. "He was never supposed to see them. And, I _don't_ want Davy to know. That's very important to me."

"Alright, but Davy's helped me quite a bit since he learned about me. I never meant for him to know I have magical powers, but, I'm glad he does now."

Miss Marin shook her head 'no' anyway. Gilbert really didn't think he would be able to change her mind, but he had hoped. He was pretty certain she was the key to answering his questions about Davy's attack.

"I had never heard of animal charming until you and your father came to Avonlea. And, I still can't believe there's another witch family nearby. It's amazing not to feel so unique. Us Blythes will always have a special kinship to you, for that reason alone."

"But I'm not a witch anymore." She started to panic. "Don't you understand? They're gone." Miss Marin wept freely. So much so, Gilbert wondered briefly if Helen might burst in and send him off.

"It happens to all of us. Me especially, for a really long time." Gilbert hunched forward. "I think it's a natural result to believing you're alone in the world, but, you're always a witch, even if your sadness is overpowering your magic. When I was your age, I had no powers at all, but I recovered once I knew the person I loved, loved me back."

"I feel ashamed you know, because, if I could choose, I would forgo being a witch to have Papa back, even for a day or even, one more minute."

"That's the exact choice I made," Gilbert attempted some humor that was marginally successful. "Look at me now. I'm a bi-locating healer." Miss Marin responded with a throaty chuckle. It wasn't a big, but it was hearty and stress reducing. "I'm still amazed that I got my powers back and then some. Anything can happen when you trust the people around you."

"Gilbert?"

"Yes?"

"Do you think it's true, that when a witch dies, the magic stays behind?" Miss Marin asked. "Miss Brooke had mentioned it to me. She said, if Papa dies happy, his magic will turn into a household blessing."

"I suppose it could be true, although, I hadn't heard of it before," He thought of the Tomgallons for some reason and their cursed ancestral home. _W_ _hat happened when a witch dies angry? "_ Speaking of Miss Brooke, she's waiting downstairs, along with my parents and Helen and Anne. We need to go, I'm sure Moody will wait until you're there before starting. I know it's hard, but, you won't be alone. We will say goodbye to Henry together."

Miss Marin painfully descended the stairs to the protective circle of her defacto family. Mrs. Blythe gave her a big hug which almost made her cry again and Helen helped her with her hat. Miss Brooke assured Miss Marin that she looked smart in her stylish, black dress. Anne slipped a card into her Miss Marin's hands. "A token of sympathy from Green Gables."

It was a picture of Jesus tending a flock of sheep. Miss Marin thought she might keep it in the Marin Family Bible.

Her steps were not as heavy as they once were as she came outside into the beautiful late summer day. Rival whinnied his welcome in his horse speak she could no longer understand. She looked at the picture in her hand and saw there were words printed too. She couldn't read cursive, but, she caught the word at the very end.

That word was _love_.

* * *

Davy Keith aimed to stand as close as he could get to Miss Marin for the graveside service. She was being propped up and supported by Miss Blythe, with Mr. and Mrs. Blythe standing behind them. Mr. Wright served as the minister now. Reverend MacPhearson wasn't allowed by the elder board to address a congregation filled with both colored and whites. Preacher Fred spoke a lot about Mr. Marin's faith, going over some surprising details he had learned back when he had investigated Mr. Marin's application to join the Avonlea church. Davy wasn't aware that he had been denied admittance because of his colored daughter.

Davy looked down into the hole where Mr. Marin was laid to rest and saw not just a coffin, but an iceberg of injustice. Mr. Marin might have had an easier life, but he chose love over convention. As a result, he was estranged from his family. Davy suspected that Mr. Marin may have had a lot more than a few "falls in the woods". For a man with poor health to start with, his choice to love the colored serving girl his father employed might have sealed his impoverished fate.

Race didn't matter in the grand scheme of things. The Great Destroyer was also the Great Equalizer. Death came to everyone, unbiased.

"Amen," everyone said.

The service concluded. Davy watched Preacher Wright shake the hand of Miss Marin. She appeared pale, but maybe that was the effect of the black dress she wore. She stood stoically with Helen's hand bracing her.

Folks approached the man-made hollow with their fistfuls of dirt. They scattered dust and Davy remembered Mr. Marin and his Bible quotes. "By the sweat of your brow thou shall eat," and here, watching the earthly sprinkling, he could also hear Mr. Marin finish that verse "from dust you came and dust you shall return".*

Davy dirtied his hands with the red, clayish soil too. He stood and waited for the line to Miss Marin and Helen to fall way. When it did, he approached contritely.

"Thanks for coming, Davy," Miss Marin said in a detached and automatic fashion.

Davy stood straighter and tried to catch Miss Marin's face, "I'm very sorry for your loss. I really liked your father. He was a kind man and I know he loved you very much." Davy realized his voice was trembling. Eight years wasn't the lifetime ago he thought it was. He remembered how it felt to watch his mother be buried and all the faces that said similar things to him and Dora.

Miss Marin's eyes brimmed with moisture and she took an interest in her feet. Davy gave Miss Blythe a puzzled, uncertain look. _What do I do now?_

 _Don't worry, Davy._ Helen smiled back.

Miss Blythe removed her hand from Miss Marin's back and asked, "Darling, would you excuse me for a moment? I want to be sure everyone knows that they are welcomed to come over for some luncheon. I'm sure Davy will stay with you." Not waiting for her answer, Helen crossed the graveyard into the throng of mourners gathered near the horses and buggies.

Davy turned his head a little bit to see the crowd. A good contingent of Avonlea had shown up to support Miss Marin and the Blythes. Davy even saw a flower-bearing Ralph Andrews approaching Dora. He suddenly wished he had picked a clutch for Miss Marin. He chastised himself for not doing so on such a terrible day.

"Look at how many people came," Davy pointed out the bouquet of well-wishers instead. "I think Mr. Marin would be surprised."

Miss Marin reviewed the people hanging around the gate, waiting for her. She could see Helen with Miss Brooke and they were talking with Mr. Sloane. Later, Mr. Sloane would tell Miss Marin that although he had never met her father, he knew that Mr. Marin had prayed for him, and he thought he should return the favor. Mr. Sloane's two-year-old son Robert was running circles around everyone until Preacher Fred scooped up his nephew and handed back him back to his mother. Further off, she could see Margo White standing in her work dress, apron, and do-rag, with a few menfolk from New Halifax. She suspected in the woods that foxes and other creatures watched as well. The birds would have told them, those hyper-aware wrens that saw everything and knew everyone.

Her father had touched more lives than she thought. Seeing so many people there; young, old, colored and white made her tremble in gratitude. She wanted to hold onto Davy for support but instead turned her focus to a late migrating songbird perched on the headstone of some older resident. It seemed to chirp condolences too.

"Miss Marin?" Davy quietly asked, as her face turned peaceful. "What's this in your hand?"

"It's a picture of Jesus." She forgot the card given to her that morning, but there it was, bent now from the pressure of her fingers. "Miss Shirley gave it to me. And, there's something written on the back."

Davy knew the card as one of Marilla's. She kept a few religious articles with her stationery. Mailing a picture of Jesus with a note was her formula for addressing trials and sufferings.

"Anne wrote the poem." Davy smiled as he flipped the card over. He knew her handwriting.

"Davy—will you read it to me? Please?" Her golden-brown eyes blinked expectantly. Davy swallowed, he was sure he would do anything if she looked at him like that and asked.

His voice was low and steady, and he didn't push quickly through the stanzas, but tried to build flow and cadence.

 _God hath not promised, skies always blue  
_ _Flower-strewn pathways, all our lives through  
_ _God hath not promised, sun without rain  
_ _Joy without sorrow, peace without pain_

 _But God hath promised, strength for the day  
_ _Rest for the labor, light for the way  
_ _Grace for the trials, help from above  
_ _Unfailing sympathy,_ _undying love**_

Davy felt is composure go. How much more obvious could he be? He wasn't reading a poem, but possibly making a confession, not only to her but himself as well. He was glad that his back was to the crowd as he retreated into his own handkerchief. It was Miss Marin that gave him some encouragement. Their gazes connected when he tried to return the card.

 _I really do_ _love you._

She looked away again and to the trees, where more birds gathered, singing a chorus of tweets and trills. Davy couldn't think why the racket of a bunch of songbirds might make her smile, but smile she did. Her smile was big and bright and infectious.

"Davy?" Miss Marin asked as she stroked the back of his hand with her index finger. "Hold my hand? Will you? Please?"

Davy opened his hand and she put her hand into his. Her trust in him fortified his spine and melted it all at once. Feeling bold, or maybe too tired to feign a different response, he informed her. "I'll hold your hand forever if you want me to."

Davy guided Miss Marin away from her father's resting place. The conversations ceased as the crowd watched Davy and Miss Marin come forward, hands joined. In Avonlea, it was uncommon to see husband and wife display affection in public after all. The picture before them was shocking.

The stir they caused was interrupted when suddenly Ralph Andrews shouted some annoyance and Dora said "Eeeeww!" and a couple of men laughed.

Davy shot a look at Dora and Ralph and saw a bird had nailed Ralph with its droppings. Dora was trying to blot out the mess from his suit jacket when yet another bird targeted Ralph and got him.

"What crazy birds around here!" Ralph exclaimed, but he laughed along with the others in what seemed to be a ridiculous coincidence.

Miss Marin leaned in a little to Davy and whispered. "There's something about me you should know."

* * *

Dora felt his hands again reach up and under her skirt and this time she let him find her upper thigh. She was tired of pushing it away and if the truth were told, the kneading pressure of his strong fingers wasn't an unpleasant feeling. She relaxed on her back in the very secluded and shaded wood of their property. They were making out on the picnic blanket to Dora's relief. Dora hated laundering grass stains.

Ralph moved Dora so her hips would cradle his. She knew that she should object to their pelvises pressing together, even with the barrier of their clothes, but she found making protests tiring. She would wait until it really mattered, and was trying to work up an absolute resolve against his charms, as he sweetly adorned her with kisses in the shallow of her neck.

Ralph was perspiring, he was so worked up. His hand returned to her breast were he fondled it tenderly. Dora felt her hips move in natural response. She was sweating too, burning under his overly-warm weight.

His mouth found hers and somewhere between love bites, she heard his husky voice suggest. "Let's do it, Dora."

Dora pulled out of his kiss and looked at him. She wasn't scandalized as she thought she would be and found the thought to be rather exciting for its wickedness. But still, it was a terrible idea. She could get pregnant, but how to tell the man she loved this when his face was excited, full of passion and want, she did not know.

Since she gave no immediate objection Ralph continued exploring, with a grin stretching ear to ear. He got his hand in her bloomers. He was pulling them down when she jumped away, "No Ralph."

"No?" Ralph repeated. He sounded genuinely hurt. Wounded even, but he stopped and rolled off of her. His belly up. She looked away as he refastened his fly. "What do you mean, no? I thought you loved me. This is what people do when they are in love."

"Ralph, I'm not ready," Dora lamely said. _And I'm scared._ "I could get pregnant."

Ralph groaned with disgust. "How many times do I have to tell you, I love you too much to get you pregnant. Don't you trust me? It's just a matter of timing. Billy told me what to do."

Dora snorted. "Billy's the father of six!"

"You know that the oldest two are Nettie's siblings, she adoptive those twins when Mrs. Blewett died."

"Fine, a father of four. My point stands."

"Which means he has enough experience to know how to not be a father. Please trust me." He kissed her again along the curve of her neck, nuzzling the place he knew she liked touched. "It will be great, I promise."

"Ralph—I trust you, but, babies are made all the time when people don't want them. Changing all these diapers has taught me that. I don't think we can beat the odds, plus, it's a sin. Isn't that why we want to marry, to avoid hell?"

"It's more of a sin to get a man all worked up and not see it through." Ralph adjusted his crotch, not caring what Dora saw when she blushed for him. "If you love me like you say you do, you'd let me make love to you."

"Ralph—I can't." Dora started to panic. It was starting to feel more and more like an ultimatum. "But please, believe me, I do love you."

"Then prove it." Ralph lounged back on his arms. "I prove I love you all the time. This situation with your brother and the colored girl continues, but, I overlook it now. What I saw today, with those two holding hands." He frowned. "It's unnatural. I thought Davy might have learned his lesson. I guess not."

"Ralph—what are you saying? Do you know who beat Davy up?"

Ralph got really uncomfortable. "I love you, Dora. I'm just trying to protect you."

"You-you!" Dora couldn't breathe as she burst into tears. Davy was right! "It was you!"

"Now, now," Ralph said. "I admit in retrospect that my plan was a bad one. I chose Nettie's kid brothers to come with me. You know, help build their confidence a bit. Those two couldn't hurt a fly, they're so little. But Davy slipped my grasp and he fell. If he hadn't had fallen, he would have been fine—I swear Dora. I even stuck around to make sure someone found him. But Mr. Blythe showed up really quick. I am sorry. I told you I would never lie to you. I am responsible."

"Ralph!" Dora gripped her stomach as what she heard was making her physically sick. She would have preferred the lie.

Ralph tried to comfort her with a pat on her back that she angrily pushed away.

"I can't marry you, Ralph. I'm sorry, but you can't do that to my brother—my twin no less—and not hurt me too."

"Dora—you're being a little bit overdramatic now. Please don't let a little nigger girl come between us. We're going to have a beautiful life together. I do love you and I did something stupid. I'm sorry. Please forgive me."

At this point, Dora had collected her things and marched off to the nearest house, she had friends everywhere now. All the mothers in the area welcomed her. She would be safe until Davy could come and get her.

"Dora!" Ralph called after her, but she only ran harder and faster away.

 **to be continued**

* * *

 _*Genesis 3:19_

 _**God hath not promised_ was written, I believe, after this scene would have taken place. Lyrics are by Annie Johnson Flint. I never heard this hymn before. I attended a funeral of a long time family friend, and this was printed on the cover of the program and I loved it. I did try to look for something else to use, something that might have fit better to AoGG, but didn't like anything else. And let's face it, I'm a very lazy researcher. I am open to a substitution if someone wants to make it. Please private message me.


	27. Sacrifice

Timeline - _Anne of Windy Poplars, The Third Year_. Approximately chapters 9  & 10\. I'm skipping several months and going into March. There's really not a lot happening in the books at this point.

* * *

 **Chapter 27: Sacrifice**

The caller interrupted Davy Keith's reverie and the mechanisms in front of him whirred to life. There were times he couldn't believe the series of events that led him to his job, but knowing Miss Helen Blythe, one of the best saleswomen for the Avonlea Telephone Exchange, and being a reliable, young man, had coalesced to his advantage, and there he was, hired to work the switchboard at A.T.E.

 _Ring! Brr-ring!_

The Charlottetown operator was waiting for him to respond as the black, cylindrical receiver shook on its hook. It was common to have long periods where nothing happened and then suddenly move into another period of great activity. It looked like it might be one of those evenings.

During the day, three women handled the switchboard and they got no breaks from the calls. Calls dropped down to almost nothing at dusk. Davy forced himself through those overnight hours by means of strong tea kept warm on the coal heater and reading. Currently, he was reviewing an art history book of Gilbert's and the book was full of illustrations of female nudes.

Davy bookmarked his spot and wrapped the massive headset around his ears and neck so his hands might be free to patch calls.*

"Avonlea speaking, sorry for the wait, how may I serve you?" He cleared his throat.

"Avonlea, this is Charlottetown, I have an incoming call from Florida for Mr. John Blythe. Can you ring ahead?"

"Please hold," Davy slid down to the other end of the switchboard and employed the dialer until the Blythe residence picked up. _Who did Mr. Blythe know in Florida?_

"Hello?" A sleepy Mr. Blythe responded. Davy felt bad for waking him up, but Mr. Blythe never left his receiver off the hook to stop inconvenient calls.

"Avonlea Telephone Exchange calling for Mr. John Blythe."

"Davy Keith, is that you I hear? What time is it?"

Davy hated being identified, especially since most of the community used a party line. All he was was a friendly voice that manually connected calls.

"Yes, Mr. Blythe. You hear correctly. It's about nine o'clock. Are you able to take a call? It's coming in from the States."

"Wow! I won't ever get used to this. This telephone thing, well, it's almost like magic." Mr. Blythe chuckled. Hearing no laughter from Davy, he whispered, "You get it?"

Davy's eyes rolled. Six months ago, following her father's funeral, Miss Marin confided in Davy her secret. That she was a witch with supernatural powers. Her confession brought Davy more fully into the society of witches and Mr. Blythe loved talking about magic—particularly Blythe magic as compared to Marin magic. Davy didn't have the heart to tell Mr. Blythe he learned about Gilbert and Helen quite a long time ago.

"Mr. Blythe... "

"Just a moment Davy,"

There was a long pause. He put Mr. Blythe on hold and assisted another customer before returning.

"Davy? Davy?"

"Sorry, I had to put you on hold for a moment."

"You must be coming up in the world, you normally work later, don't you?"

Davy quickly explained, "I'm just covering a few hours tonight."

He agreed to come in early even if it meant missing Anne's birthday supper. Honestly, he had forgotten about Anne's twenty-fifth. He wanted more work: He wanted to help Marilla now that he was old enough to make an impact.

Last fall, he opted to not to return to school when this job presented itself. He considered the pros and cons for a week before deciding. He knew he wanted to farm, like Mr. Blythe, and had no aspirations for an education beyond the three 'R's. He didn't know if he'd continue on as a switchboard operator for the summer, but in the winter, after harvest, it felt wonderful to earn a salary.

He had a hard time convincing Marilla. She wanted him to go to Queens and try for a teacher's certificate. Even if he never taught, she wanted him trained up to support himself like Anne was. "Overnight telephone work isn't lucrative."

"Neither is teaching." Davy countered.

Mrs. Lynde took his side at the supper table and reiterated his thoughts in her brisk, opinionated way. "What's he going to do with Latin and advanced geometry, Marilla? That won't make the potatoes grow faster. He has a chance to earn some money, he might as well. We'll need his help next winter, what, with Anne leaving."

Marilla eventually agreed when she looked at things fiscally. His time was probably better spent outside the classroom, even if she would have preferred to give him the luxury of that final year of education.

Davy never looked back at his decision to drop out. He was good at his job and the pantry was full.

"Mr. Blythe, your caller is from Florida."

"Florida?"

"Yes, can you hold again, please? I want to be sure they're still there." Davy returned to the incoming call. "Charlottetown? Thank you for holding. I have Mr. John Blythe, may I-"

"Just a moment, Avonlea."

 _Typical._ He drummed his fingers across oak switchboard. Waiting. He hoped Mr. Blythe would continue to hold for him.

"I'm sorry. There's a lot of static, but my caller's name is Marin."

 _Marin?_

Davy gave himself two seconds to recover and convinced himself that Mr. Blythe knew lots of people by the name Marin, even people in a different country. Even people over two thousand miles away.

"Avonlea?"

"I'm here."

"Better patch the call while the line is hot."

Davy returned to Mr. Blythe and attempted to feign a professional detachment; however, something in his timbre betrayed his curiosity.

"Sir, the Charlottetown operator said the caller's name is...Marin." _A_ _long lost_ _relative?_ "There's a lot of static. I need to stay on the line to make sure the call is good on your end."

Another long pause until: "Davy, it's nothing to worry about, but please, don't tell Miss Marin about this. And _don't_ listen in."

"I need to make sure the call is good, though. That's my duty."

"It will be fine, Son. But don't listen, please."

Davy stared at his terminal for a moment. He could eavesdrop, find out what it was about. Mr. Blythe wouldn't know. Ultimately, Davy decided he wouldn't.

"Son—please trust me, just patch it through."

"Yes, sir!" Davy relented. He inserted the prong into the grove, connecting the wires and then tapped out just as he heard a woman's voice with a Southern drawl say, "Hello!"

* * *

Gilbert dinged the metal bell, calling the clerk of his boarding house to his station behind the dark, mahogany counter. Mr. Perry arrived with his apron and white sleeve guards still on. He was a tall, lean man, whose physique reminded Gilbert of an older Eugene. Only, Mr. Perry wouldn't admit he was bald and presented himself to the world with an aggressive, iron-gray come-over pomaded to his head.

Gilbert tapped the tiny-but-loud bell again and drew a "stop that" look from the clerk.

"Yes?" Mr. Perry moved the summoning device out of Gilbert's reach.

"Mail?"

"Oh—right!"

He went to the table where mail was sorted on a mission to retrieve Gilbert's latest bundle.

Gilbert could see the inside of the 'staff-only' office now. The ledgers were out with pillars of paper stacked on the desk's corners. He caught Mr. Perry in the middle of balancing the books for the end-of-month transactions.

"You've got another letter from Summerside, Mr. Blythe." He handed over Gilbert's mail with his ink-stained fingers. "This one from just came in a half-hour ago. Today's postmark even."

Mr. Perry knew Mr. Blythe was engaged to his childhood sweetheart. That tidbit was from the other Redmond student boarding. As Mr. Blythe was rarely seen, coming or going, or even eating in the dining hall for that matter, no one knew much about him.

A moment of brightness flashed over Gilbert's face as he retrieved Anne's letter. Her handwriting, generally a mess of loops, was a welcomed sight. Mr. Perry used the change in Gilbert's countenance as confirmation that Summerside was his betrothed.

"What's funny?" Gilbert asked as he reshuffled the rest of his mail.

"Your Summerside correspondent writes very prolifically. You could return the favor from time to time and send her a letter or two. I can be trusted to mail them. Franking is part of your room and board."

"Why do you even think that it's a lady writing me?"

"You frown a bit if there is no A. Shirley letter and light up like a match when there is." He gestured with those same ink-stained fingers, "But it is the handwriting itself. Looks like a girl's."

"Well, thank you just the same." Gilbert tucked the letter into his inside pocket, trying not to give clues to this pale and male version of Mrs. Lynde.

"And you missed supper again!" Mr. Perry tried to wiggle a bit more conversation out of Gilbert. "Do you want something from the kitchen? I'll go get it for you."

"No, I ate at the hospital," Gilbert spoke loudly as he was already ascending the staircase. "It's not the best food, but there's plenty."

He was anxious to read the letter. Concerns for Anne's safety nagged him since her birthday. He wasn't sure exactly why, but, sometimes he got inexplicable hunches. Like the time he had a hunch to go out in a dory on the lake of Shining Waters. He wasn't sure why he had felt pestered to do so until he found Anne clinging onto the piling.

Gilbert hurried his black coat off and tossed all the other documents onto a small table. He opened Anne's letter first.

What he read almost made his heart stop cold.

 _I am invited to have supper tomorrow night with a lady of Summerside. I know you won't believe me, Gilbert, when I tell you her name is Tomgallon...**_

Gilbert dropped the letter. He told himself to breathe as the shock abated. He couldn't have read correctly. _Tomgallon?_ _Tomgallon!_ He was done dealing with Tomgallon, wasn't he? Gilbert plucked the letter from the floor and reread it, valiantly hoping that he had suffered a hiccup in his ability to understand English. It said the exact same thing.

"No! Not Tomgallon!" Gilbert heard himself tell the empty room. Former worries resurrected and eddied around him as he read Anne's excited reaction to the invitation Gilbert was sure had a nefarious purpose.

 _Miss Minerva Tomgallon. You'll say I've been reading Dickens too long and too late._

 _Dearest, aren't you glad your name is Blythe? I am sure I could never marry you if it were Tomgallon. Fancy. . . Anne Tomgallon? No, you can't fancy it._

 _This is the ultimate honor Summerside has to bestow. . . an invitation to Tomgallon House! It has no other name. No nonsense about Elms or Chestnuts or Crofts for the Tomgallons.**_

"Anne, what the blazes are you doing?"

Gilbert couldn't be blithe about Anne dining in that cursed house. He racked his head for a reasonable answer to her agreeing to go. Didn't they discuss the Dean's curse breaking plan last year?

Gilbert was sure he had. It involved sacrificing someone lucky, someone like Anne. . . Gilbert's breathe hitched.

 _Anne!_

Why couldn't Anne have guessed this invitation might be suspicious? Even Anne remarked what a momentous name Tomgallon was. Wouldn't she remember it? _Tomgallon._ Well, she was right. It sounded Dickensian. How could she forget it?

The answer burned him. Anne would remember a name like that! He never mentioned the Dean's name, because had he, she would have noticed the surname's literary potential back then.

Gilbert had other questions stewing. How did the Tomgallons know about Anne? The dean had known his fiancée worked in Summerside, but how did he find out it was Anne? He'd have to solve that mystery later. The Tomgallons were having Anne Shirley for supper. Gilbert's first order of business was to protect Anne.

* * *

As soon as Miss Marin's head touched Davy's shoulder Henrietta squealed. Davy ignored the oinks as Miss Marin lifted her head and directed her attention to the sow.

"Stop scolding us!" Miss Marin implored with a twist to her mouth that threatened to become a smile. "We're just sitting, resting. Until Mr. Blythe returns from Charlottetown."

Henrietta's feet paced back and forth against the pickets as she vocally admonished the pair. Davy couldn't make heads or tales out of her grunting, but he recognized the matronly air she commanded. Miss Marin's expression changed from embarrassment to objection. She almost stood up to say something back to the worldly sow but Davy caught her at the elbow and she fell back into his arms.

"What she's saying?" Davy asked after they scrambled to separate themselves. Miss Marin bashfully turned away from his pink face.

Henrietta protested to their flirting and she squealed again as Miss Marin righted herself in the seat.

"Oh, I hardly think I'm going to repeat that."

Miss Marin's eyebrows knitted together and she tossed Davy a look that made his heart thump.

Henrietta's oinking didn't stop as she flopped to the ground to show off her firm teats and growing sides. Henrietta was going to have another litter soon.

"Oh...Oh! Well then-" And Miss Marin gave Davy another mysterious look that made him feel impish.

Returning her attention to the noisy beast, "Davy's not like that, Henrietta. And, I _reall_ y didn't need to know _that_ about Hector... Yes, I'm sorry, but, you're not the only sow around these parts. And you forget, Hector is a pig!"

Davy was rather used to being the third party in all of Miss Marin's animal interactions. Sometimes he could piece together the conversation, as Miss Marin tried to speak in a manner that included him. It took paying attention though. It was amazing the way her powers built a language bridge between herself and the creatures of the earth.

"You mind telling me what it was that got your goat?" Davy insisted. He didn't want to be blushing and not know why exactly.

"It's unmentionable!" Miss Marin replied.

"No secrets anymore, remember?" Davy lifted his eyebrows into his hairline as an adoring smile stretch across his face.

The no secret part wasn't quite true. There was that call a few weeks ago from Florida. He had promised Mr. Blythe to stay quiet about it, so Davy did. And Davy had another secret he wanted to share, only, he hadn't worked up the nerve to say it. He suspected his secret was in his twinkling eyes. Miss Marin once again faltered under his intense gaze.

Gesturing towards the pig-pen with her delicate, tan hands, "Henrietta said," Miss Marin took a deep breath and raced, "Youwanttohavepigletswithme."

"What?"

Davy leaned back, trying to translate her translation. Something about piglets and wanting them. He liked the last litter well enough, even if Charlie and Rosy were sold in the Charlottetown auction a few months back.

"I'm fine with piglets."

Miss Marin buried her face in her hands as Henrietta honed her oratory skills.

"No…!" She attempted to explain. "She said, now Davy, mind you, she's an animal. But she thinks that you want to have piglets with me."

Davy smiled again, not so much at the thought of making piglets with Miss Marin, but at all the choices that had been handed to him for a response. He liked watching her flustered. He could poke fun at this pig situation for a while, but, he mercifully let those opportunities slide.

"I don't think that's possible." Davy confidently said.

A wave of disappointment flashed across her face and again, Davy was wrought with naughty thoughts. His wilder dreams crept closer and closer to the foreground. Davy knew he wasn't quite the gentleman he should be all the time. Still, he believed fifteen and fourteen were too young for anything serious. Henrietta's warnings were a vanity as they were not Ralph and Dora.

"Ralph apologized to me," Davy blurted out once he remembered.

"Really? He apologized?" Miss Marin's tone changed from something flirty to more serious.

"Well, he tried to, even if the words fell a little short." Davy snorted on the memory. "It felt really strange the way he hemmed and hawed through it, but Ralph, he tried. I can give him that much."

"He just wants Dora back," Miss Marin concluded. "He's just like Hector. As soon as he gets what he wants, off he goes."

"He didn't mention Dora. When it was done he said he's decided to take a third year at Queens. Said he won a scholarship."

"I dunno, Davy," Miss Marin shrugged. "He doesn't seem to be the, 'I'm sorry' type. Did you forgive him then?"

"Yeah," Davy's voice shimmered with some uncertainty. "I can't be eaten up anymore about it. It's been nine months since it happened. Dora and Ralph are no longer engaged; haven't been for almost six months." He looked at Miss Marin meaningfully. "They're too young for that anyway. Don't you think?"

"Yes," Miss Marin slowly said. "Too young."

Satisfied, Davy continued. "Not that I'll forget what he did, but, I've got to move on too. Holding grudges is poison."

Miss Marin dropped her hand onto Davy's. She knew how traumatic it had been for him, but he probably didn't know it was traumatic for her too. One of her songbirds watched it happened. The bird flew to her, thinking Davy was dying. Her fears became the schoolmaster of her emotions and she learned something about her heart and what made it beat.

"You're a better person than I am."

"I'm not so sure," Davy turned towards her to better explain. "If I am, it's because I got my inspiration from your father. I asked myself, what he would do? Mr. Marin would have said there were bigger fish to fry than Ralph Andrews. Besides, if I rejected Ralph's apology, he would have a real reason to be mad at me, instead of this segregation hogwash."

He lifted their joined hands a moment. He loved how his white hand supported her brown one. Their skin tones complemented each other, making their clasp a thing of beauty. There was no clash.

"Papa really liked you. I miss him so much you know."

"I miss him too. If it didn't look like rain, we could go see him if you like."

Whether Davy was correct in his summation of Mr. Marin's character, he never knew for sure. What Davy did know was that he had earned his daughter's trust. After his funeral, she told Davy she was a witch and everything made so much more sense. Her blossom bearing birds, her friendship with Henrietta, Rival's inability to keep a secret, it all made sense. Davy even knew that she had magicked the songbirds to poop on Ralph, even if she wouldn't admit to it.

Knowing she was an animal charmer inspired a deeper need to protect her. He was proud to be that person; her confidant. It made him feel special. It was her way of loving him. Where Davy was still a bit uneasy about Gilbert being a witch, with Miss Marin, he felt privileged. He held her secret tenderly in his heart and planned to guard it the rest of his life.

"Davy, if you don't leave soon, you'll be caught in the rain."

"Maybe Mr. Blythe will let me crash here if that's the case."

"I don't think Helen would permit that," Miss Marin jumped up from their bench. Her black skirt swished from the motion. "It's one thing to be alone together in the barn, with the cows and Henrietta as chaperon, but sharing quarters overnight is something else."

"We wouldn't be sharing quarters." Davy couldn't quite believe what she had hinted as he stood to follow her. "We'd have our own rooms, or I'd take the couch."

"I know, but Helen is really strict when it comes to you."

"Well, she does have impeccable instincts."

Miss Marin opened the barn door just as Mr. Blythe's buggy pulled up to the house. Two women sat in the back, protected by the canopy. Mr. Blythe jumped down and drew back the buggy's awning so the ladies might exit.

Davy saw he was needed and stepped towards the rig when he suddenly felt Miss Marin pull him back. He smiled weakly at her and then tried to take another step forward, only to feel her hand grip tighter.

"What?"

Miss Marin did not reply but stared at the passengers.

The first lady was elegantly dressed and bejeweled with diamond earrings. She pulled her skirts up a tad to adjust the drape and whispered something to Mr. Blythe. Whatever her question was, Mr. Blythe said 'yes' with a bob of his head. Both of them then smiled at Miss Marin before she stepped aside and opened a very silly parasol. The second lady was an extremely dark, colored woman, dressed in a serviceable dress of wine.

"Davy!" Miss Marin didn't shout but there was urgency. "It's Mama!"

Davy turned to Miss Marin. Her eye's leaked a fascinated panic.

"No, your mother passed away. It can't be."

"I swear, she looks exactly like Mama."

"There's only one way to find out who she is." Davy did not let go of her hand when Miss Marin tried to retreat back to the stable. Instead, she hid behind him as the colored woman approached.

"Hello, I'm Flora," The woman said kindly with a glaring white smile. "You're Henry Marin's daughter, aren't you?"

Miss Marin nodded her reply.

"I'm David Keith, Ma'am," Davy used the lower tones of his voice. He suddenly felt self-conscious, here he was holding Miss Marin's hand, trying to appear more than what he was. "Most folk just call me Davy though."

The three of them stood looking at each other for what seemed to be an uncomfortable eternity.

"How did you know my father?" Miss Marin stepped out from behind Davy, her curiosity finally getting the best of her.

"I really didn't know him that well, but Mrs. Marin here..." Flora turned and indicated the older, bejeweled woman waiting by the rig. "She told me all about her son on our trip from Cuba. You see, my oldest sister, Mary, was your mother."

Miss Marin squeaked from the surprise. She looked back and forth from the woman with the umbrella, her grandmother, to the woman whose body mirrored the memory she had of her mother. Davy prodded a gobsmacked Miss Marin to speak with a chin point, but she would not. Her hand fell away from his when she reached forward to touch her aunt's arm.

"You look a lot like Miss Marin's mother, and I think it's tied her tongue." Davy tried to explain.

"You're my aunt?"

Flora was bending low as her niece's hand continue to trace her outline.

"That's right!" Her smile blazed. "I'm told all the time I look like Mary. Your grandmother brought me with her for that reason. She hoped you'd be comforted by the resemblance." Flora paused and then most unexpectedly said, "We've come to take you back to Cuba, to your home."

* * *

Mr. Blythe found Davy in the stable as Davy picked out the crud from Rival's hooves. He was frustrated and rougher than he normally would be. The hoof jam sprayed some, instead of dropping to the ground. Davy didn't even hear Mr. Blythe enter the stall. It was Rival that whinnied for Davy to wake up.

Davy glared at his mentor. He had kept the secret, about the call from Florida. Had he said something, that moment out in front of the house might have been a lot less of a shock for her and for him.

Mr. Blythe sighed. He decided a few months ago to keep Davy out of the loop. He had a hard enough time keeping Helen calm and quiet about the development and he feared what Davy might do should he learn. Adolescent boys in love sometimes make hasty decisions when it came to their girls. Nevertheless, Mr. Blythe wanted to tell Davy everything now.

"Davy, we can't stop it. Miss Marin's leaving. They'll stay in Charlottetown a few weeks before they board a ship back to Cuba. Helen's tagging along with them to help Miss Marin adjust, until. . . _B_ o _n voyage_." When Davy said nothing, Mr. Blythe picked up the curry brush and started to groom Rival's side. "You know, we're not any happier with the situation than you are. She's family now. She belongs, she even has powers."

Davy dropped Rival's hoof and proceeded to the other. Rival didn't lift it for him when he tapped the front, instead, the horse bent down and nudged Davy away. Davy didn't realize how upset he was until he stumbled. Frustrated, he jammed his tool's point into the wood fencing. It was sort of senseless reaction, but it bought him time to compose himself. Davy's red, watery eyes had nothing to do with never seeing Miss Marin again and everything to do with the approaching storm stirring dirt and pollen into the air.

Mr. Blythe spoke as he groomed, switching between curry and dandy combs.

"Hank and his mother sent messages to each other with the migrating birds. When there was no message last winter, Mrs. Marin started to make inquiries. She hired a fancy attorney in Charlottetown to approach us. Telegrams raced back and forth and then a few calls. I confirmed her granddaughter was in my home. I told her we were happy to have her."

"And. . . you're just going to let her go?" The question was served on a plate of disbelief.

"We could fight it, Davy, but it would mean releasing Miss Marin to be a ward of the state and to a colored orphanage. There's no legal guardian right now. And then we'd have custody fight, between me, a poor farmer and her, the widow of a well-to-do cigar maker."

Davy felt sick. There were more important things in the world than money. Being happy was one of them. She was happy with the Blythes.

"Even if we won, how old would Miss Marin be at that point? Fifteen, sixteen, seventeen? Where would she be in the meantime? Someone's house? Doing what? A pretty girl like her in a place that's probably less Christian and more barbaric? We can't do that to her. She needs stability right now. But there is one ray of hope."

"Which is?" Davy exhaled.

"I'm convinced Mrs. Marin loves her granddaughter and I know Hank wanted the rift between himself and his parents to heal. I believe that was his dying wish, and his leftover magic is working to make that happen, and his blessing is fixing his broken home. Now, with Hank's father passed away too, Mrs. Marin, she's finally allowed to right the wrong her husband made. She says she's loved her granddaughter the moment she heard she was born. Never once got to see her. All that love, dammed up, going nowhere. I can't say I blame her for traveling so far. I'd do the same.

Besides, she needs guidance. Mrs. Marin insists that her granddaughter learn her magic from someone that . . ."

"But Helen. . . " Davy sputtered. "Helen's a witch too, she can help her."

"We all said that," Mr. Blythe leaned on the fencing that barricaded Rival's enclosure. "Mrs. Marin made excellent points though that she is more qualified. Us Blythes learn magic higgledy-piggledy, but the Marins have been passing down their knowledge of magic for many millennia. They have traditions and records as old as Noah."

"You still could have told me." Davy sternness wasn't lost on Mr. Blythe. "I'm her friend. Her best friend. . . her _beau_."

"Davy—what would you have done?" Mr. Blythe enquired as only a wise father could.

Davy stared down the question. _What would he have done?_ He was flooded with ideas of hiding her, helping her run away, possibly even, marrying her.

When his jaw dropped Mr. Blythe continued his speech. "Eloping wouldn't fix the problem, only add to it. You would have been found too. Mrs. Marin is a talented witch."

"I just don't want her to leave," Davy huffed.

Rival turned as best he could in the narrow stall and headbutted him again. Only this time, it was done affectionately. Davy teetered for a moment, before finding balance from Rival's side and Mr. Blythe's hand.

Davy was a young man. He wasn't the little boy anymore that clung to Anne's skirts as she prepared to leave for Redmond. He refused to let his eyes dampen more than what they were, a resolve that proved harder when Mr. Blythe decided to hug him. At first, he wanted to push him away, but Mr. Blythe insisted. So Davy hugged him back, telling himself it would be the last time he would ever allow himself to be caught off guard with his own feelings.

"Why don't you come over tomorrow morning and spend the day?" Mr. Blythe asked when he had finally let go. "I'll insist that you and Miss Marin have leave to do _almost_ anything you'd like. And you and your girl can have a nice goodbye."

"I don't think I can tell her goodbye." Davy's chest tightened.

"Well, then don't," Mr. Blythe suggested. "Just tell her what's on your heart."

* * *

Anne felt Gilbert's hand stroke her outer arm and her skin tingled from his touch. She wasn't sure where she was for a moment. She knew she wasn't in her Windy Poplars bed or at Green Gables. The setting still felt familiar in that Gil was there, next to her bedside, urging her to wake.

Anne noticed once she stretched that Gilbert wasn't in his nightshirt. Tonight, he hadn't bi-located himself for a short visit. He was wearing his heavy winter coat and matching hat. He had magically traveled straight to her side. For what purpose, she didn't know.

"You're really here?" Anne marveled.

"I got your letter a few hours ago. And I...Anne, I want to walk you home."

Her memories of the evening returned. She was a guest at Tomgallon House, a dismal home of faded glories. And Gilbert had come to save her. Not that she needed saving. She was pleased to wait out the March tempest in Miss Minerva's keep.

"It's not necessary," Anne was pleased to see him just the same.

Lightening cracked outside, its unbridled electricity lit the dark room and Anne saw hazel eyes wild. She wasn't sure if the vivid thud was thunder or thrill. She wanted to pull him to herself and hold him through the lonely night. Instead, she moved to a sitting position and rested her torso on the dark-wood headboard.

"Let's go"

"I can't leave," Anne told him. "It would be the height of rudeness. This old place is lonely for some new blood to grace the halls."

"Oh, Anne. . . " Gilbert's horrified voice intoned. "You don't. . . How could you understand? I'll explain."

Gilbert found a match from the nightstand's drawer. Soon, the room was bathed in warm, flickering candlelight.

"Anne—why are you here?" Gilbert ran his hand through the thick waves of his hair as he paced her bedside. "The invitation for supper. Tomgallon? Don't you realize? Anne, this is a trap."

Anne pushed aside the crazy quilt cover, summoning him to her side with a pat.

"What do you mean, a trap?"

"Don't you remember?"

He could remember her eyes flecked with anger when he reported how he showed the professor his healing powers and his resulting demands. Now her eyes were wistful and he wasn't sure if she were listening to him, but lost in other thoughts.

"I told you that the Dean of the Medical School wanted me to break a curse." Gilbert made it more clear as he read bewilderment from Anne. "The Dean's name was Tomgallon."

" _Tomgallon?"_

"Yes, Dean Tomgallon was once a resident of this cursed place."

"But Gilbert, I thought the Dean's name was Hart. My student Jimmy Hart was related to the Dean."

"That doesn't mean that they would have the same name."

"No, I suppose it doesn't, but you see how I assumed."

"I made an omission. I think I felt it was less disparaging not to say his name when I complained about his plan. This man wanted to sacrifice someone lucky and have me heal them. He wanted bloodshed. He was mad. I honestly thought you knew his name, but, if I never clarified. It's my fault."

Anne hunched forwarded now understanding Gilbert's urgency. "First of all, stop blaming yourself. Second, I can't believe Miss Minerva Tomgallon is so sinister as to commit to such a grisly plot, but I can't even consider leaving and getting drenched, I'll get sick with pneumonia again. Unless you can magic me out?"

"Well . . ." Gilbert was hoping it wouldn't come to this. His feeble idea was to escort Anne through the dark night and back to Spook's Lane. "I don't have my powers just yet. I needed Katherine's help to guide me here."

"No powers?" Anne rubbed the top of his hand. "Well, we know how to get them back quicker, don't we?"

Gilbert flipped his hand over and let her fingers rest in his palm. He loved Anne with all his heart but engaging in a kissing session wasn't on the agenda yet.

"Help me figure this out, Anne." Gilbert rose from her bedside and glanced around, his eyes settling on Annabelle Tomgallon's eerie portrait. The woman's face glowered back and he diverted his eyes. Gilbert thought he saw a shadow move from under the door. When he tried the knob to check, he learned it was locked.

 _Click. Click._

"Anne, it's locked!"

"I know," Anne bit her lower lip. "The maid locked it on her way out. I'm sure out of habit more than anything else. I called after her but she's quite deaf. She's a very old servant, Gil."

"Now I'm convinced. Miss Minerva invited you for a particular reason. I don't think her donation to the school library was the catalyst for meeting you. You were targeted and she made the gift to lure you here. Somehow, the Tomgallons were able to link us together. But how?"

Anne quietly processed a few different scenarios to answer the question but it always came back to "Jimmy Hart."

"I agree." Gilbert mused, now investigating the corners of the room. "The connection is through your school and Mr. Hart is the most obvious link. Did I tell you that I spoke with young Mr. Hart when I substituted for you last year? He told all his friends that you were dying. I assured him you were very well and I also told him I was a medical student at Redmond."

"That explains so much. You really peaked his curiosity because he asked me about you more than once. He even knew we're engaged. Would you have told him so much if you knew he was related to the Dean?"

Gilbert shook his head. "Definitely not! Too much risk of word getting back to Kingsport." He grumbled, seeing how things probably played out. "Instead, I handed him a medical miracle to pass over to his great uncle. The Dean collected miracles." His cloudy thoughts cleared. "All this time, I wondered why Dr. Hart didn't investigate your recovery. He was probably told to leave it alone."

"Well—can't be helped now." Anne answered, "But the house is definitely cursed if everything Miss Minerva told me is true. The first thing she did after I laid down my hat and coat was point out the stair where her great-grandfather broke his neck the night of the house-warming." Anne sat erect as she acted her hostess' nasally air. "She said, 'This house was consecrated by human blood***'."

"Of course it was," Bone-chilling excitement pumped through his veins as more puzzle pieces fell into place. "That's why the Dean wanted a live sacrifice because the curse had been fortified by unlucky blood so long ago. So he thought if he could find someone lucky . . ." He gave Anne a knowing glance, "Who's luckier than someone that's survived advanced pneumonia?"

"Oh, Gilbert! You really do think I was invited here to be. . . . " Anne couldn't say it.

"Anne—nothing's going to happen to you." Gilbert firmly announced. "You know I won't let it."

His voice instantly soothed her ruffled anxieties.

"Listen, I'm closer to figuring this out. We know when a witch loses someone they love, the joy of their heart, their powers die too. But when a witch dies, their powers stay behind to become either a household blessing or a household curse. A peaceful death means a blessing and an angry death means-"

"A curse!"

Despite duress of the evening, Gilbert was happy to have gained some magical insights.

"I know how to break it," Anne announced it before she had thought it out. "With lots of love—a sacrificial love."

It occurred to Anne, as Gilbert talked about luck and blood, that there might be a way to break the curse that didn't involve actual death.

* * *

Marilla Cuthbert heard the storm raging and worried for the new cherry trees planted in the orchard. Those trees cost more than her budget allowed, but, she was convinced that if the plantings were successful, Green Gables would recoup the expense in two year's time. Fruit tree seedlings were slow to take root and the gale threatened to undo her hopes. She pulled on the white cotton sheet, bringing it up to her chin as she tried to settle back to sleep, but her worry bested her.

It was Anne that taught her how to love cherry trees, with their silky petals and enchanting scent. Marilla couldn't look at a cherry tree in bloom and not think of Anne and feel her presence about the place. Which is why she wanted a small grove planted. Anne was leaving soon.

The wind picked up strength and Marilla rose to close her shutters. She hoped that Davy and Dora were old enough to figure out the same.

There was a knock and she heard Davy say, "Marilla, may I come in?"

"Yes," Marilla reached over to her nightstand where her oil lamp burned low. She adjusted the wick to improve the light. "Will you close the parlor shutters before you go to work?"

"I have the night off," Davy forgot to tell Marilla. He had called in a favor so he could spend tomorrow with Miss Marin. "But I'll double check. I want to talk with you."

Marilla worked her way back into bed, adjusting the covers as Davy watched. Between the intermittent flashes of light, Marilla's memory juxtaposed a very young Davy, frightened of the storm, with the grown-up version in front of her now. It was as if she could almost touch a memory.

"What is it, Davy?"

"May I please have my mother's ring?"

Davy walked over to Marilla's jewel box, where he knew she kept it safe. At Easter time, after polishing the silver, Davy would come upstairs, take the ring out from its cubby and polish the silver band. He never forgot.

"It's supposed to go to me, right?"

Marilla tried not to roll her eyes. It was dark and Davy sounded too earnest to have noticed the disdain her pitch.

"Mary said it belongs to both of you. You and Dora."

Davy pulled the ring out and looked at it, contemplating all the things it meant to him. It was the evidence that his mother loved him and Dora. She made a plan to save it for them before the unscrupulous undertaker stole it to pay his bill.

"But Dora won't need Mama's ring when she marries, her fiancé will give her one." Davy rationalized. "I think it's time Mama's ring was passed to me. If I can be trusted to help you with the budget, I can be trusted with this."

"Yes, well, I can't say I find fault with your reasoning, but, what exactly are you thinking, Davy?" Marilla asked hoarsely. "Does this have something to do with Miss Marin?"

Davy nodded. "This has everything to do with Miss Marin."

Marilla put her hand up over her eyes in exasperation. "Davy—what is it with you twins? You're too young to get married."

"I know that, but I don't have a lot of options, and my idea. . ." Davy looked up at his guardian. "I just hope it works."

"You're going to have to explain yourself," Marilla told him. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"She's leaving Avonlea, Marilla." His face fell. "It's a long story, but, she's leaving, but this ring, I hope this will bring her back."

* * *

The cracks in the ceiling annoyed Gilbert. He couldn't do anything about them though. It wasn't his house or even his bed. Yet, the plaster showed a spiderweb of intersecting lines. Were he and Anne flies in this stranger-than-strange web? _No. Wake up, Blythe! Be logical._ An old house like Tomgallon House probably had multiple issues in addition to the resident curse. Cracked plaster was to be expected.

The morning sunrise coaxed Anne awake. His chest was her pillow and when she peered up at him, his heart melted. She was radiating all the loveliness he felt for her.

"Good morning, Mrs. Soon-to-be-Blythe."

"Good morning yourself, Mr. Soon-to-be-Dr. Blythe."

That got a chuckle from him and he deposited a small kiss as her crown. "How do you feel?"

"Loved," Anne answered. "And rested. And, extremely, extremely lucky."

Gilbert rolled his eyes. "Traditionally, I believe that's my line. Being lucky and all that."

"No, I definitely believe that I am the lucky one."

"We're the lucky ones." Gilbert echoed. "But we'll never be who we once were."

"I wasn't expecting philosophy this morning." Anne chuckled. "Gil, we were pushing that line already."

"Anne, maybe we shouldn't have done that," Gilbert gave her what he hoped sounded like an apology. The truth was, the sensations he felt riveting through his body was something he wanted to remember and feel again.

"Gil, how could have this gone any other way?" Anne inquired. "Last night was so romantic, what, with the tempest and the curse to contend with. Like a modern fairy tale. I was the damsel and you were my prince. . . It was going to happen."

"Well—it sort of didn't."

Anne snorted. "No, it happened, at least in our hearts. We turned to each other in love."

"Do you think we broke the curse?"

Anne examined the room. The golden rays streaming in choked the shadows to nonexistence. "Yes! The house feels at peace now. Can't you tell?"

"I just wanted you to confirm it." Gilbert kissed her cheek, "I love you, Anne-girl."

"I love you too."

* * *

Davy Keith escorted Miss Marin along a waterlogged and debris burdened road. Davy had asked what she would like to do on her last day in Avonlea and she thought she ought to see her father. The walk to the cemetery wasn't a long one from the Blythes and they ambled. They side-stepped puddles of red mud and sometimes climbed over branch. Davy got quite dirty from clearing brush as he went.

No verbal complaints were made about the situation, which was an effort for both of them. They showed their frustration in their posture. Davy kicked rocks with the point of his shoe and Miss Marin withdrew into herself.

"We should try to be more cheerful," Davy finally decided. If he had learned anything from knowing Miss Marin, complaining just made a hard time harder. "The storm is over and the air is really fresh and clean. And, Marilla only lost one cherry tree."

Miss Marin turned back to him, her old slat bonnet firmly tied under her chin. If he was going to try to point out the good, she would too. "The birds are happy this morning." Her voice came from the tunnel of her visor.

"Yeah, I thought I heard a whole lot of them singing me awake. That's one of your tricks, isn't it?"

Miss Marin chuckled a confirmation. "Not completely. They're really joyful this morning."

"Why are the birds happy?" Davy pointed to a tree that had been struck by lightning. A large limb swung down from the trunk and would eventually peel off. The storm had viciously pruned a lot of the woods. "Their homes are in shambles."

"How can you not be happy when you're a bird?" Miss Marin replied. "They can fly! They always have a choice on where they want to be." She slowed down and let Davy catch up. When he was an arm's length away, she stretched her hand towards him, asking him to take it. "Besides, they can rebuild easily."

"My hand is muddy." Davy showed her his palm with its red, caked-on splatter.

"That mud is looking pretty good then."

"Well, if you insist."

Davy needed his hand back when they reached the graveyard. The gate was still chained. If they were younger and smaller, it might have been possible to slip between the gaps. The spear-shaped posts looked like a rather imposing climb. Scaling the barrier might have appealed to Davy at one time, but he judged himself too big and heavy now to make the attempt. With wet shoes and rainwater everywhere, gripping the iron bars would be difficult.

"Well... " Davy rattled the entrance hoping somehow the chain would break. "I didn't expect this."

"It's all right," Miss Marin was not upset. "I can see Papa's headstone. I'll just say what I want from here."

"Do you want some privacy?" Davy offered. "I can stand a few feet off."

"No—stay. Papa always liked your company."

Her thin fingers wrapped around the slick poles and she pressed her head into the gap and began talking.

"Papa, I just want you to know your Mama came for me. She's really sorry about what happened between you and your father and she wants to make it better. She's a widow now and a bit lonely. I'm going to your childhood home in Cuba, but I won't forget you. I suppose you know this. You wanted me to know my family and what's happening is the blessing you left. Your magic working to fix a wrong. But, I'm scared to leave the Blythes and Davy. They've been so nice and kind to me.

"Grandmother says I'll have nice things to wear and my own horse if I like. She says there's even a piano and I might learn to play it. Imagine that! Me living in a house as fancy as Preacher Wright's!

"And I'll get to know my aunt. I didn't know I had an aunt but she looks just like Mama. When she hugged me I thought. . . just for a second. . . "

Davy stepped a few feet away to give Miss Marin some room as she continued. The things that she said cemented the decision he had made last night. When he stopped hearing Miss Marin's voice, he returned to her side. Miss Marin's bonnet had slipped back on her head and the sides were winged out. There were long dents pressed into her face from her leaning into the poles. She ran the base of her thumb over her tear ducts. She was just teary, and not particularly overwrought with sadness. She had had her good-bye.

Davy handed her his handkerchief. "You know, I can help you with your Papa. I can bring flowers and clean his marker."

"Oh—I was going to ask if you might," Miss Marin returned his cloth. "Shall we go then?"

"Maybe I have something to tell Mr. Marin."

"Oh, really!" Miss Marin brightened up.

Davy took his turn to speak. The metal was cold when he pressed his forehead on it.

"Mr. Marin—I figured it out, what you were trying to tell me." His glance to her hinted of old boyhood mischief. "Thank you! And I know you wouldn't have given me an empty assurance. It's because of that, I can smile today for a happier tomorrow."

The walk back to the Blythe homestead was even slower than the walk to the cemetery.

"I don't want you to be scared," Davy finally said as he realized that they were nearing the drive that led up to the Blythe house. There was a certain conversation he was meaning to have, his mind practiced it all day long. "And I'm sorry we couldn't do more visiting. I wanted to take you over to New Halifax, but the roads are a mess. I hope this was a nice afternoon, overall."

"It was." Miss Marin replied. "I was with you."

"I've decided there's something I want you to have with you in Cuba." Davy stood still and reached into his pocket. He hesitated a little bit before pulling his hand out. "Please understand that I'm not asking you anything. I just want you to have it."

In his fingers was a silver engagement ring, its diamond glinting prettily in the sunlight.

"Mind you, I'm not, not asking," Davy said again as he pressed the jewel into her soft, brown hand. "But I'd feel so much better if Mama's ring was with you."

The reflected light once more glimmered like a shining hope. He never lost his little boy feeling that he could talk to his deceased mother by admiring her sparkly ring. As the jewel disappeared into Miss Marin's clasp, he knew his decision to give away his heirloom was the right one. He felt his mother's smile descend upon them from paradise.

"We're too young to make any sort of promise, so know that you are completely free—like a bird. Please don't feel obligated to me. Otherwise, my purpose here is lost."

Davy touched the side of her stunned face.

"I would prefer if you could stay of course, but, you getting to know your family is a very, very good thing. Please give them a chance to love you, and try to be happy, but if it's too much and they're unkind, the ring can help you."

Miss Marin stood nonplussed in front of him as the light danced off the diamond. Stiffly, she handed it back, her face sad and apologetic.

"Davy, I...I can't take your mother's ring. It's the only thing you and Dora have left of her. Her ring is precious to you."

He hadn't expected her to refuse and she was able to pass it back. Davy toyed with the band one last time, slipping it on his thumb as far as it would go and removing it again.

"Miss Marin, you're right to say this ring is important to me, and I sincerely hope I see it again. But I won't be coming to Cuba one day because the ring is precious, I'll be coming because you are." Davy's eyes pooled with emotion. "It's you that's precious to me, and I love you."

"Davy!"

"I need to know you're safe." Davy presented it again and she touched it with the plump of her fingertip. "I'm really hopeful that this will be a good turn for you, but if I'm wrong, you can sell it and run away. It's a real diamond and should be enough to leave Cuba and go where-ever you want. So, I want you to have it because I want to give you a choice. It's the best I can do."

Miss Marin let a dam of tears go. "Thank you, Davy."

She wrapped her arms around Davy and hugged him for all her worth. It took Davy a moment to match her strength, unsure if he could trust himself to let her go.

"Davy. . . " Miss Marin rubbed his head over his hidden scar, fluffing slightly damp hair. "You can't call me Miss Marin anymore. Use my Christian name, please. It's the only thing I can give back to you, and you earned it."

Davy put some space between their bodies but continued to hold her. They were both breathing roughly.

"All right, Penny," Davy leaned forward and brushed his lips on the apple of her wet check. His risk paid off when she smiled. "But, you'll always be my Miss Marin, too."

Miss Marin made a face at him and then laughed, breaking their embrace completely. No longer sad, she glowed.

"Davy, my name is not Penny." She couldn't stop giggling now. "That was Papa's joke. My name is Millicent. Papa liked to call me Li'l Cent instead. And then it became Penny. You know, a penny is a cent. I've always hated my name."

"Millicent?" Davy laughed as he grabbed her hand, "That's a wonderful name. So much better than Dora or Eunice, but it is a mouthful. Can I call you Millie instead?"

"You can call me anything you want." She was busy putting the ring on her necklace for safekeeping, "But when I write to you, I will sign it 'M' for Millicent, and then 'I-L-Y' for 'I love you' because I do."

 **to be continued**

* * *

*From the Frank H Woods Telephone Museum's Website. Youtube a scene from "Yes Man Telephone" or "Frank H Woods Telephone" for a clip of the place. The following paragraph was captioned below a photo of Gilliland Harness:

 _The extremely heavy 10.5 pound Gilliland Harness (shown on the manequin [SIC]) was worn by early day telephone operators in the 1880s. It allowed the operator full use of both hands to operate the keys and cords to make the call connections. Originally, young boys were operators because it was feared young women would be at risk working night shifts. Eventually, the young boys were replaced in part because of their non-professional behavior._

**Anne of Windy Poplars, Year 3, Chapter 9.  
***Anne of Windy Poplars, Year 3, Chapter 10

* * *

Author Note: I am also very happy to finally give you Miss Marin's name, if you didn't know or suspect it already.


	28. Maid (Part 1)

Timeline - _Anne's House of Dreams_. The first few chapters.

* * *

 **Chapter 28: Maid (Part 1)**

The mellowing summer heat clung to Anne Shirley even as gusts of night wind whistled by and a dusky husk dropped upon Avonlea. Whatever sunlight remained in the sky it was so stretched that it could only offer a meager echo to its earlier intense blaze. Such a summer night couldn't be slept through and Anne meandered away from Green Gables. Her original destination, the Blythes, was preempted for a task long overdue. And not with so much of a conscious thought, Anne detoured herself from the normal turn and went onward to the cemetery.

Although she knew her thoughts weren't rational, it pressed upon her heart to remember her bygone friend with a bridal favor. Kindred spirits could not be divided by the veil between life and death. If her chum might help her, Anne was sure she would.

Goosebumps shimmied over Anne's arms as the gate swung open with an eerie groan and she finally felt cold. It had been ages and ages since she had made the effort to visit, but the grounds were not big; family plots were well marked, and Anne found her friend with ease. Her white tombstone emerged from the earth like an elongated moon. "Ruby Gillis" was stamped out along its curved, limestone edge.

Just looking at her orbiting halo made Anne choke with emotion. It was so unfair! Ruby did not want to be the first in their class to die and for months feigned health to the painful annoyance of the rest of them. But to Anne and only Anne, Ruby agonized the prospect of no more.

Anne spread out her apron on the humid ground and sat on it as she used to in their Story Club days. There was no more need to be sad for Ruby surely could never stay as dejected as she had felt leading up to her final moments. Ruby, upon passing, would have snapped back to her glorious perfection, her glossy laugh and robust coloring revived. And with good looks she might engage Anne confident her opinion was important; her thoughts spurred from the prettiest of wrappers.

"Dearest Ruby, you've always been such a gem." Anne stopped, sort of ashamed of her weak pun, but in her heart, she thought she heard her jolly guffaw. _She was a great one to laugh.*_

Anne unfocused her eyes, allowing the engraved letters to swirl and blur. She hoped to see Ruby once more in the mystical world surrounding. When her efforts to see beyond life's foreground failed, Anne rested her eyes on the miniature white roses blooming at the head of her grave. White for purity and innocence and youth. It just wasn't fair.

"I've been meaning to see you but I kept putting it off. You know how prideful I can be, but you were right. You probably know Gil and I, we're marrying next week. Last I saw you alive, you insisted we were meant to be, but I resisted that idea."

Anne stumbled over this truth. Ruby may not have been a seer like Helen, but, Ruby had been an excellent judge of social dynamics. Several sisters married put her years ahead of her peers when it came to the delicate dance men and women executed in courtship. She knew all the steps and wanted all the boys to ask her to waltz.

Ruby had been a flirt and enjoyed the confusion she put over her admirers. But with Gilbert, she had a real friendship and managed to cut past some of his facade. Outwardly, their comradery was light and easy going but Anne observed trust between their eyes. At one time, whatever they had, was enough to make her envious.

Gilbert never talked about Ruby and Anne suspected she knew why. He felt responsible for her death. If events had been different, had he fallen for Ruby and not Anne, Gilbert would have had his powers and he might have saved her. So Anne's gut told her, that when Gilbert Blythe thought about Ruby Gillis, he had to quiet not one but two regrets. Not being able to heal her was the main ache, but, disappointing her romantic hopes was the second. Together, those regrets spelled her doom.

"It might surprise you, but, I've always been a bit jealous of you," Anne mentioned. "I coveted your beauty; blonde hair and bright blue eyes. Your rosy pink checks on unblemished, milky white skin. Truly, you were fairest of the fair. A perfect Lily Maid. From his grave, Lord Tennyson made that dory sink in protest to me playing Elaine. You were made for that moment, not I.

"And I confess, when I learned you and Gilbert corresponded back in our Queens days, I was green with jealousy. I know it was silly of me to feel such envy, especially back then, when I hedged Gilbert so carefully out of my life. Still, I didn't like the idea of the two of you writing each other. I should have realized then that what I felt for Gil was much more than just scholastic competitiveness."

Rambling set in and she was adrift from the verses she had mentally crafted and rehearsed over the last three years. Anne collected those thoughts, wrapped her arms around her skirted legs and rested her chin on the points of her knees. Like a spell, her words would be irrevocable once loosed to the world.

"The truth is. . .if you hadn't died, Ruby, I'm not sure I would have taken Gilbert's typhoid scare seriously. I think I would have assumed he was too young and strong to actually die. Of course, I would have worried some, but it wouldn't have rattled me so. And I needed to be rattled to see. But because you did die I was terrified Gilbert would too." Anne recoiled. Just thinking about his close shave with the Great Destroyer turned her insides to jelly. "I knew then I couldn't live in a world without Gilbert Blythe. I loved him. I always had, just as you and Diana suspected. It was the hardest lesson I ever learned."

 _Anne, Gilbert didn't die and soon you'll be married to him._

"Right," Anne bowed her head. "He didn't die, but without you, I would not have transfigured. So thank you, Ruby. Thank you for helping me love.

"So, I must ask you, will you be my bridesmaid? I just can't have anyone. They must be kindred."

 _Oh, Anne! A dead person as your maid-of-honor? What would Mrs. Lynde say?_

Anne chuckled past Ruby's objection, "I understand that, and trust me, I started with the living. I asked Helen Blythe, Gilbert's cousin if she might, and she declined, although, with a lot of apology. She's decided to witness Charlie Sloane's courtroom wedding to Gertie Pye instead. Charlie and Gertie finally decided to elope and they're doing it on our wedding day."

 _Charlie's awful, of all the days to pick, why would he marry on the same day as your wedding to Gilbert?_

"Charlie's never been able to read the room, has he?" Anne agreed. It was hard not to giggle at Ruby's mocked indignation. His move was so predictably Sloanish that it was hardly a surprise.

"Mrs. Sloane explained to Gilbert's mother, who later told us that Charlie didn't want fuss or notice. He wanted a shadow to hide in and I guess Gil and I cast a long one. It is unfortunate though Helen chose to witness his vows over ours. Gil thinks it might have something to do with her avoiding her parents. Helen's father is still rather ashamed of his peculiar girl."

 _Oh, that's heartbreaking! Well, what about your college friends?_

"Most of my girlfriends from school are married now, and the one that isn't, is on the West Coast, but in all honesty, I think I just rather have you as my maid. Just hear me out. Of course, I don't expect you to stand next to me, not in a corporeal way. But, will you please be the maid of my heart?"

 _Yes, of course, I will. I can do that! It will be my honor!_

Upon receipt of Ruby's promise, Anne smiled. It was hard not to when she knew Ruby was happy. A whisper of wind touched Anne's check like a breathy kiss. Anne stroked the spot, remembering how Ruby always parted.

"Thank you, Ruby!"

Anne folded her apron into a square and use the cloth to wipe condensation off of her weather-stained headstone. She took off much dirt as she neatened Ruby's appearance. Anne wished there was more she could do to right the wrong Ruby had suffered. She died in the apple of her youth, but she continued to exist in a very real way in her heart.

* * *

An overdressed man encumbered with a carpet bag, a medical bag, and two bundles of flowers walked on the public road toward the house known as Green Gables. He kept stumbling, over what, it didn't matter. Today, Dr. Felder told himself the heat was causing the periodic misstep. Even the corralled horse gave him a glance over when he tripped at the gate. Eugene dusted himself off no worse for wear.

But a dignified sigh slipped his lips when he thought he heard the horse snicker. He looked back at the animal and said, "That wasn't necessary."

Eugene hoped only the horse had seen him fall. Now that he was closer, he could see two ladies on the veranda of the old green, gabled house. One was waving 'hello' at him, encouraging him to hurry, and the other woman he did not recognize.

The waving, heavy woman was Mrs. Rachel Lynde. Her voice could call the cows home from her rocker.

"Anne Shirley!" she cried at the wall of the house. "You get yourself out here right now. You have yourself another guest."

Eugene crossed the yard and strove up the cobbled path and past Marilla's flower beds. He took two of the three steps in one bound before arriving at a halt.

"It's wonderful to see you, Dr. Felder! But surely you're aware you might have called us for a ride from the station."

"A ride?" Dr. Felder set his bags down and then pushed some daisies into Mrs. Lynde's hand. He then gave the unknown woman whose arms held an infant child a few disappointing stems. "You have a telephone? Here?"

Dr. Felder removed his hat and rubbed his sweaty scalp with his handkerchief. Gil's letter said he should call on Anne first but he never thought Gil meant _telephone_ Anne.

"You really think I could live without a telephone?" Mrs. Lynde huffed.

"Well, when you put it that way, probably not, Mrs. Lynde." The way she spoke, he easily could see her with a bowl of popcorn, listening in on the party line. "I think Mr. Alexander Graham Bell had your lovely self in mind when inspiration struck. I will have to call you now. I do enjoy your conversation so much."

"Now yes! There's the infamous butter you like to spread." Mrs. Lynde about pushed him down next to the other Green Gables guest. "I'll fetch Anne. Say hello to Mrs. Harry Inglis and her yet unnamed son and see if you can get her to gush. Jane's one of Anne's very first Avonlea friends."

Eugene smiled a hello and feebly fanned his fingers. Her humor barely sparked as she rocked what appeared to be an eight weeks old infant. There was a sure fire way to flatter any mother.

"That's a beautiful child."

And like a good mother, she glowed.

 _Cre_ _ee_ _a_ _aa_ _k!_

Dr. Felder and Mrs. Inglis twisted in their chairs as Anne exited the little-used side door.

"Gene! You're here! Oh, you're here!" Anne said as she hurried out of the kitchen.

Gene somehow managed to knock down his vacated chair. _Typical._ He righted the object immediately and accepted the welcome Anne bestowed. It had been a while since he had such a big hug from a lady.

"Anne, you look really pretty," Eugene graced her with a simple but heartfelt compliment. "I'm so glad I was able to come to this little supper you're having. Never mind the grim circumstance of my mother-in-law's death and all those Pringles now wondering why I left instead of pondering why I came. Well, you know why. My last promise to Victoria is almost complete now that probate is started."

Eugene hadn't meant to sour the mood of the little gathering by mentioning death. He squeezed Anne one last time as he saw Gilbert approach.

"Anne told me she had no more hugs left," Gilbert complained as he shook Eugene's hand.

"You're not doing your Dr. Diagnosis bit, are you?"

Eugene regretted asking after he heard himself. He knew perfectly well Gilbert's handshake always included a bit of a diagnostic. Gilbert's eyes widened to his implication and Eugene instantly knew that Mrs. Inglis did not know her longtime school friend was also a witch. And of course, now was the time for her to demonstrate an inquisitive streak.

"Gil—you're called Dr. Diagnosis?" Jane asked as she handed her sleeping baby over to Marilla Cuthbert.

Marilla's steady and aged hands cradled the boy with a careful devotion that made Anne's breath catch. The spinster forfeited a smile as she carried the baby. Marilla had set up a nursery in the guest room.

"Yes, Jane. It seems I have a bit of a talent in seeing what's wrong with people." Gilbert answered honestly. Jane would never know how vague he was really being. "And, it didn't help that Dean Tomgallon took notice and re-enforced the moniker by forcing me to write _that_ paper. But, it's not a big deal. Everyone has strengths. Gene is a specialist in the field of obstetrics and now does important research at Johns Hopkins."

"Yes, but he's not called Dr. Baby." Jane argued. "To be christened-"

"I wouldn't mind that," Dr. Felder took over the conversation and pantomimed a huge banner in the air as he paced across the porch with echoing footsteps. "I can see my shingle now, 'Eugene Felder—Dr. Baby.'"

The group chuckled at his demonstration when he came to a stop.

But as Gene entertained the group Anne and Gilbert quietly revisited their current disagreement regarding the Tomgallons. Miss Minerva had sent them some luxurious bed sheets as a wedding gift. Her note audaciously pinned to the top of the folded white fabric. It was a big red circle with a simple "Thank you!" scrawled out. There was no card or anything else along with the package. How do you respond to _that?_ A humorless thank you or should they acknowledge her subtext?

"Unlike Gil, I'm not in private practice." Eugene continued for Jane. "I'm an educator."

"You should go into private practice though," Mrs. Wright said as she sat down on the porch's railing. Below her perch were Mrs. Lynde's roses. "I love my daughter, small Anne Cordelia. Dr. Felder helped." Diana inhaled the scented air, unable to find words for the gratitude she felt.

Gene flushed a bit. There was something very satisfying in helping a patient build a family. Private practice appealed to him to a certain degree.

"Where did those flowers come from?" Anne asked, noticing the array for daisies and late-blooming hollyhocks on the table.

"Oh, I forgot!" Eugene remembered. "I bought flowers for you and Mrs. Lynde. Sold out the vendor at the train station. Really, they're for all the ladies at Green Gables. Marilla included."

"And don't forget Dora," Jane reminded everyone in earshot.

Part of the reason why Jane came back for Anne's wedding was to discover what happened between her youngest brother, Ralph Andrews and his love, Dora Keith. They had all the makings of a match in heaven, or so her mother corresponded, and their relationship fell apart for no reason whatsoever according to Ralph. The few times Jane had visited Green Gables since arriving she could see that Dora was a forgotten element. She reminded Dora in private that she would still love to call her her sister.

"Dora?" Dr. Felder asked. "Who's Dora?"

"Anne's sister. Davy's twin." Gilbert teased his former roommate. "I've told you about Davy and Dora. Com' on, Davy _and Dora_. Two thousand diapers?"

"Oh, right, how could I forget?" Eugene agreed and he directed his comment back to Jane. "And, I promise never to forget about Anne's sister again."

"Dora Keith was one of my favorite students when I taught school here." Jane added, "I could always trust her to be good and stay quiet. And I loved the little pictures she used to draw."

"Dora's hair reminds me so much of Ruby. So long and blonde. It's so sad that Ruby's not here right now. She would have delighted in your nuptials, Anne." Diana Wright said as she took a plate of plum puffs away from Marilla and set it on the table. Mrs. Lynde came out again with a pot of tea and teacups.

"I do miss Ruby," Jane admitted. "The night of my departure party, she was dying. I'll never feel right about that. I should have canceled out of respect."

"Well, if she were here right now, I would be asking her to read some of Anne's old romantic yarns from our Story Club days. She had them all. Some of them were very comedic."

"Oh, you would not," Anne stubbornly said, but her vigorous refusal to revisit her youthful and idyllic compositions met universal opposition.

"I'd think I'd like to read some of them," Mrs. Lynde chimed in. "The winter nights get dreadful quiet with Davy at his job now. I'd love a good laugh like the rest you young folk."

That got Jane chuckling. "Read the ones with Percival. I always liked those."

Gilbert watched his friends converse in abstraction. Mrs. Lynde treated Dr. Felder as her surrogate son and fussed over his refreshments. Anne, Diana, and Jane were now making a daisy chain for Anne to wear. And he felt Ruby's absence as well and approved of Anne's choice of bridesmaid. It was fitting her attendant was a resident of Tomorrowland.

* * *

"What am I looking at here?" Eugene said as he joined Anne Shirley in the narrow pantry. Gilbert was behind them, blocking the entrance, his eyes fixed on his bride-to-be as she gushed before their mutual friend. Eugene glanced over Anne's shoulder to Gil who shook his head 'no'. Gene would get no help from him in making a guess.

Anne twisted her torso so her skirts swished lightly back and forth. "It's just the best wedding gift ever."

Eugene hadn't seen the inside of a pantry since his food nicking days as a boy at his uncle's. Still, he didn't quite understand why "the best wedding gift ever" would be hidden away in the smallest room of the house where no one would see it.

"It wouldn't be. . ." _A toilet?_

Eugene did not venture that guess, although, everyone had a water closet now except half the homes on PEI. It was the only thing he could think of that might be outrageously useful and hidden. But a toilet would be a really crappy wedding gift.

"Gene, you'll never guess—never!" Helen's disembodied voice floated in from the kitchen. She had arrived on time from Four Winds Harbor with a lease agreement for Gilbert to sign. Her hard work as a new real estate agent was going to net her a nice commission.

"Anne is so lucky!" Diana's voice added, also from the other side of the wall. "Of course, Marilla's been saving up for three whole years."

"I give up," Eugene sheepishly admitted, although, he didn't quite understand the fuss.

Anne stepped away and revealed a waist-high, oak cabinet with imposing steel latches and paneled doors. The glossy finish reflected light from the room's venting window. The wooden pantry shelves looked shabby over to the new appliance.

"Wow!" Eugene put on his glasses, leaned forward and inspected the formidable object. "A Gibson Icebox?"

"All the way from Boston, Mass." Anne hummed pleasantly as she rubbed her hand over the varnished wood. "Isn't it beautiful?"

Eugene straightened his torso and shifted his head to bring Gilbert into his peripheral vision. Gil was also proud of the gift.

"It's big! Probably weighs a ton."

"Marilla bought _two_ of them," Gilbert announced. "She so convinced on the economy that she decided she needed one as well. Ours is still crated. We'll open it as soon as we find our house of dreams.

Anne girlishly clapped her hands delighted with the most extravagant wedding present they received. The present really demonstrated just how much Marilla blessed their union.

"I know I shouldn't be this giddy about a piece of furniture, but I was _thrilled_ with her generosity. I don't know how Marilla possibly managed it."

"Davy told me he pitched in some," Gilbert said as he and Eugene traded places in the tight space. Eugene observed Gilbert pecking Anne's cheek before squatting in front of the icebox, also admiring it. "I have to wonder if the two of us need an icebox this big."

Anne laid a hand on Gil's shoulder, "Maybe not at first, but eventually, I think we will. At least, I hope so."

"Oh, I think that's my exit," Eugene said with an eye roll for the lovers. He soon found himself in the kitchen where Mrs. Wright helped set up the banquet.

"Please, please say you will, Diana!" Helen said as she monitored Marilla's pan roast. Marilla was in the root cellar looking for a possible lost treasure. "I know you object some, but your penmanship is so beautiful. The invitations you wrote for Anne were works of art. What precision!"

Mrs. Wright's conflicting emotion wasn't lost to Eugene. She blushed to Helen's flattery and also appeared uncomfortable with whatever enterprise Helen pitched.

"I'm not sure I'll have the time to do something so large before the wedding." Mrs. Wright said, trying her best to present a more enthusiastic facade.

"I know you're going to do it." Helen seemed to say to herself as Mrs. Wright fussed. "I don't even need to see the future. My heart tells me so. You can't resist a good love story."

"What's this?" Eugene asked as he almost overturned the vase of flowers with a wayward elbow. His awkward physicality broke Mrs. Wright's anxieties and both girls snickered at their bumbling friend.

"Katherine and I are going to marry." There was a small beat before Helen's dimpled face searched his out.

Helen had not written Eugene too much about Katherine because she broke his heart two summers ago. He confessed to loving her. He had proposed. He was manly about her refusal but it still had to have hurt. She feared her news would be salt on to his wound.

His pale eyes saw her sincerity and replied, _Don't apologize. You're happy_ _._

"When's this wedding? I should like to see it."

"I should like to see it too," Anne answered as she led Gilbert by the hand to the kitchen table. Anne was fixing her hair. Gilbert had confiscated a few of her hairpins and someone needed to tell her her blouse buttons were askew before Mrs. Lynde came in from the veranda.

"It's not a real wedding. We're witnessing Charlie Sloane's and Gertie Pye's elopement. When they say their vows, they'll be our proxy. Our certificate, if Diana agrees to write one for us, will be an everlasting witness to our commitment to each other. We'll frame it for our foyer. Now that Charles and I sold the pattern company, I'm buying a place with my share."

"That's a clever idea!" Anne encouraged as she put on her full bibbed apron. "But I am hurt you won't be at our wedding. Gil is your cousin."

"Bertie understands," Helen replied. "Don't you?"

"Not really, Helen," Gilbert answered, knowing it was pointless to deny what she could so easily read if she cared to. She had always been his favorite cousin and Gilbert had done a lot to help her move and support her through her crisises. "Uncle Raymond will behave and not cause a scene, I'm sure. But, you must do as you see fit. And being sympathetic is not the same as understanding." _You're being selfish, darling Cousin._

Helen tried to continue to baste the roast in its own fat, but, Gilbert's statement ruffled her. She handed her spoon to Anne and stepped away from the crowd before she magically gleaned more information. She checked on Jane in the nursery. Jane knew nothing of her abilities and there was nothing more refreshing for a seer than to connect with an infant's unspoiled mind.

"I'll think about it, Helen," Diana called after her.

"Well, it turns out I didn't have a bottle, but two!" Marilla said as she entered the room once more. She opened the cabinet that stretched up to the ceiling and pointed. "Gilbert, would you mind bringing down my decanter? Tonight we're having the very last of my mother's current wine. It should be excellent with its age."

* * *

Dora Keith heard the crying infant but was buried under her sewing. She was working on her bridesmaid dress. Eventually, Anne would realize she needed an attendant and would ask. Dora wanted to be ready when that happened so she worked on her gown in secret. A little bit here, a little bit there. It was all coming together. It just needed a couple more embellishments. But a crying baby couldn't be ignored. Dora put her sewing away and hid the dress before heading off to the nursery.

By the time she arrived she half expected someone else tending the baby, but Dora had to lift her jaw off the floor at the sight of a man changing a diaper. And he knew what he was doing too! Leaning down, unfastening pins, murmuring something of a compliment to the soiled creature. This man didn't even gag on the fecal smells as he separated the boy from his nappy.

"Now, now," the man said. "We'll get you nice and clean and ready for cuddles in Mama's arms. I promise. Just, please stop crying like a banshee. I might take it personally if you keep going on about it."

Dora didn't know what caused this man to turn and see her. Had she moved? She didn't think so, she was paralyzed from the surprise still. Maybe she laughed. That's it. She must have laughed. It was endearing, what she was witnessing. A man changing an infant, but, it wasn't right.

"I can do that," Dora offered, taking a step in his direction. "You shouldn't have to. You're a man."

"But I want to. I asked Mrs. Inglis if I might."

Dora meant to nudge him away from the deplorable task, but his insisting made her take a step back. Her arm almost knocked over the fragile, bedside lamp. It precariously rocked on the table. This man looked at her and the teetering object with more than a little bit of curiosity.

Dora tapped the lamp, making sure it was put. She wasn't a clumsy person, not usually. It had to be the shock of watching this man handle a baby's diaper.

"You… you want to? Changing a diaper is woman's work."

The man laughed hard. "I don't think so. The work a woman does to deliver a baby is much more difficult than changing a diaper. Men can change diapers, and they should, they are the fathers. And, one day, your young man will understand that."

"What?"

"You're Dora Keith, aren't you? Two thousand diapers? Your quest towards the altar was rather interesting, even from Kingsport. Gilbert kept up on your diaper tally, did you know that."

"No, I didn't." Dora's forehead knitted wrinkles in her wonder. _Gilbert cared?_

Now done with the diaper changing, Dr. Felder blew a gentle raspberry onto the baby's bare chest and then straightened his dress to cover his legs. The baby cooed from the masculine attention. His gummy smile delighted Eugene.

"Who are you?"

"I'm Dr. Eugene Felder."

"Oh, Mrs. Lynde friend." _The widower!_ Dora was delighted to finally met him although she had imagined him with a lot more hair.

"That's funny, I was going to say I'm Gilbert's friend, but, I suppose I am both."

"Are you here for the wedding?" Dora pinked a little. There seemed to be an obvious answer to this question. He was probably Gilbert's best man.

"No—I have to leave tomorrow morning. I managed to slip away from my Summerside in-laws to come here and give Anne and Gilbert my best wishes."

"Oh," Dora was mildly astonished by her disappointed voice.

"It's really nice to meet you Miss Keith," Dr. Felder said as he put junior back into Marilla's make-shift crib. "Do take some of the flowers I brought or else Mrs. Lynde will claim them all."

Dr. Felder passed Dora with a smile and a salute.

 **to be continued**

* * *

*Anne of the Island, chapter 20, The Summons


	29. Maid (Part 2)

Timeline - _Anne's House of Dreams_. The first few chapters.

* * *

 **Chapter 29:** **Maid (Part 2)**

Anne Shirley once more found her hand absorbed in the comforting clutch of her bosom friend's as they winded their way 'round the perimeter of the Lake of Shining Waters. They took turns styling the air with "do you remembers". Anne bore the weight of the conversation in her homage and Diana Wright's peals skipped across the serene waters all the way to the bridge where Helen Blythe, Dr. Eugene Felder, and Jane Inglis stood. The wind then carried Diana's laughter to the orchard where Gilbert Blythe, Davy Keith, and Fred Wright arranged chairs for tomorrow's morrow service.

Gilbert strained to hear his beloved's laughter too, but Anne's laugh while given easily didn't have the tonal quality to carry across a void. He settled for a visual confirmation of her whereabouts in lieu of an auditory. His bride and her best friend were dots on the other side of the pond. Their queer-shaped silhouettes marred the otherwise gorgeous expanse of golden sun.

"Do you know, Diana, that I still remember the words of our solemn vow and pledge? Do you?"

"Wasn't it. . ." Diana's eyes twinkled as black fringe floated off her pale cheeks. She then gravely repeated, " _'I solemnly swear to be faithful to my bosom friend, Anne Shirley, for as long as the sun and moon shall endure?'*_ "

"Oh, Diana!" Anne kissed her dimple in a light and fast motion. "You're so right! And not even the advent of a husband can make me break my promise to you. You are my first mate."

"And not your last one, nor your finest. You and Gilbert will have a wonderful marriage," Diana predicted.

"Yes, I believe we will," Anne flushed. "We plan to repeat deathless vows and be married forever and ever. When two people love each other, vows are most appropriate. Lovers or friends, does it really matter?"

Diana heard Anne's hint loud and clear. Anne's communication was the boldest part of her personality.

When Anne first arrived in Avonlea, Diana struggled to understand her. Anne's vocabulary was an interesting mixture of evocative and precise language. Now, fourteen years later, Diana understood Anne without a flourish of words assaulting her. Diana relinquished her grip and their hands parted. She felt some shame in abandoning her kindred for a principle.

"Anne—I don't think I can write a marriage certificate for Helen and Katherine as I don't believe _that_ is a marriage. It's not God's way." Diana disquieted when she brought up the divine. She didn't know why she mentioned Him in this. Her hardened position had little to do with religion. It had to do with Minnie May's rebellion. She had cropped her hair and declared herself as good as any boy. No one could convince Minnie May that being a woman was a wonderful thing too.

"Helen is your friend."

"She is. She's a dear."

"Is it not possible to do something difficult just because someone you love asks?"

"Do you really think that Helen and Katherine's wedding certificate should be written by someone that didn't support the life they wished to enter into together?" Diana frowned feeling certain that she was paying them something of a favor in saying 'no'. "Every time they look at it they'll be reminded of the arm twisting they did to get it."

"But the document isn't about you," Anne retorted. "It would be about them. Helen knows you object and she's able to separate your feelings from it enough to ask. She loves your penmanship, as we all do." Anne's slender fingers brushed Diana's arm. "You gave me your vow so long ago, why not help Helen and Katherine with theirs?"

Anne observed a slight change to Diana's countenance as her argument concluded, a breathy relinquishment or a sigh of defeat. She returned Anne's imploring expression with a tiny nod.

"Thank you, Diana," Anne grinned. "Gil and I will buy the frame when it's done."

"I'm not yet decided, Anne, but you've given me an idea." Diana clarified.

Their arms re-linked as they approached the landing that Diana's father built for the pond. The bridge wasn't far away now. Helen, Gene, and Jane lingered on it, waiting for their company. Helen waved and called for them to hurry, but Anne meandered.

"Diana, I'm going to miss you!" Anne bemoaned. "You are the sweetest part of Avonlea."

"We'll visit each other, I'm sure." Diana reasonably said. "And the telephone. . . "

"Oh, drat the telephone," Anne crinkled her nose as if this thought were a disgusting smell. "The telephone will never be the same as this! Walking hand and hand, arm and arm. We are together sharing the same spectacular night! Look at the heavens above! The brush strokes God makes are thick and bold. The sun projects orange and the clouds blot them pink and purple. The phone can deliver words but not ambiance."

"Anne," Diana petted the arm linked in her own and they halted before the bridge's entrance. "When you have your house of dreams with Gilbert, at first, you will be far too interested in wearing the word 'wife' to notice the sunset. You're not at all worried, are you?"

Diana's demeanor was mostly soft and sweet, a virtuous example of a happy wife. Yet, Anne relished the sauciness that sometimes bubbled behind her rosy face. It was a delicate thing, to speak of husbands and sex, and Anne worried she'd learn too much about Fred if she were to ask about all things male. And how could she ask anything at all without telling Diana too much about 'Gilbert the uncircumcised' and his unexpected endings?

"Diana," Anne blushed a color resembling the painted sky. "Alas, I fear that _might_ be true. But I made a promise to Gilbert that I wouldn't seek or listen to the advice of wiser women, but instead, trust him."

"Anne," Diana kept her voice low. "What does Gilbert know about being a woman? I know he is a doctor now, but still."

Anne snickered at that thought. The snicker grew until it was a hearty, uncontrollable laugh.

Diana dropped Anne's arm and appeared abashed. "Anne Shirley, what is so funny?"

"It's just that. . . " Anne bit her lower lip and rolled her eyes at the thought. It was a stupid, inconceivable idea. "You know Gilbert has a second body when he bi-locates?"

"Fred did say something on the subject, once." Diana wasn't sure she had quite forgiven Gilbert for catching her in the middle of nursing. She never said a thing about it to Anne though.

'Um-hmm," Anne returned to her snickering, "But Gilbert recently mentioned to me that his second body is super-flexible now, his bi-locational magic has grown, and he can make his other body be anything he wants. He could make himself small, tiny even, or bigger. He might change his hair or he could turn himself. . . "

"Goodness no!" Diana's jaw hinged open when she saw Anne's line of thought. "You're not saying he could make himself a woman?"

Anne once again laughed, "I don't think he'd want to, but, strictly speaking, he can be anything he wants. A woman, a fox, a turtle, a frog."

"Your princely frog," Diana snorted before starting out on the bridge. Her eyes sought a lily pad where a frog might be croaking to his maid. "Although, Gilbert is a great name for a frog**. I am never going to look at them the same way again. I might need to take a page from Helen and call him 'Bertie' from now on."

Anne chuckled at Diana's feign and was still chortling when they joined the others at the middle of the bridge. From their perch, she leaned over the rail and observed the source of the acoustic drizzle. The waters languidly streamed. No gushing currents today.

"Are you looking for your dory, Anne?" Helen asked, as she too leaned over the barrier to gaze upon the stagnant and murky pool.

"My dory?"

From behind them, Jane explained, "I was telling Helen and Eugene about the time you almost drowned in this pond, Anne."

Anne's heart skipped a beat in remembrance of the panic she felt trapped inside the doomed vessel, her small hands unable to bail out the water. The support of the bridge was her hope as she escaped a watery grave.

"It was this piling under us that I clung to, once the dory sunk."

Eugene chuckled, "Thankfully, Gilbert was stalking you that day and came to your rescue."

"Stalking?" Anne abruptly turned around and stared down the good doctor. "You don't really think he was stalking me?"

"Not maliciously, no," Gene said as Diana and Jane's simpering underscored Anne's blindness to certain youthful truths. "And perhaps not even with his own knowledge, but, I get a feeling he was always nearby back then."

"He was," Jane agreed. "In fact, I knew Harry was serious about me because where ever I went, there he was too! Just like, where ever Anne went, there was Gilbert! Mind you, Mr. Inglis always had a watertight excuse for these encounters. He wanted to make gifts of charity to my school and kept asking what I needed. When I asked for a piano and got it, well . . . I knew then."

"What a lovely anecdote!" Anne flattered Jane. "To be wooed by a gift of music. Go on!"

"Neither of us can play it," Jane laughed and Anne could not help her smile too as a gust of wind lifted the brim of her hat. Jane glanced around at the others, they all held polite expressions. "I asked for it because I honestly thought it would be too much, and then he would go away. But then one day it was delivered, with a bouquet of roses for me and music books for all the children." Jane bowed her head, her bashfulness beautifying her plain features. "People say I'm sensible but when the piano arrived, I knew Harry was trying to convey something more than an interest in my students. I was an irrational mess for a few days."

Eugene's lifted his lids as if he too were remembering a tenderness. "You and Mr. Inglis managed to compose your own love ballad despite your ineptitude to play. You have a handsome and healthy son. Don't delay in naming him. Might I suggest Mozart or Chopin?"

Jane laughed again but she was too flustered to speak further on her courtship.

"Well, Mr. Inglis' excuses might have been 'watertight' but my father's dory sure was not." Diana rounded the conversation off. "I honestly thought we had murdered Anne."

"Why so?" Helen said before Gene could.

"Oh—Jane and Ruby and me, we convinced Anne to be Elaine in our little play re-acting the Lily Maid." However, Helen puzzled over this answer, so Diana rephrased part of her answer. "Elaine the Fair? Elaine of Astolat?"

"Helen, it's alright." Anne patted Helen's hand. Anne alone knew that Helen did not have formal schooling in her youth. "We studied Tennyson's poem, _The Lady of Shallot,_ and I acted the tragic part of Lady Elaine. According to Arthurian legend, Lady Elaine died from unrequited love. Her burial was on a barge that floated to Camelot. Hence my demise in a dory."

"But if I recall, you really wanted Ruby Gillis to be Elaine because she was so blonde." Jane's recovered voice said, but her cheeks were still stained pink from bashful blush. It was a painful thing for Jane Andrews to admit she had been so moved by love to change her name to Jane Inglis. Her eyes emoted that it was never Harry's wealth that convinced her to fall, only his affections.

Diana now had her arm linked in Jane's. The two shared a kinship as young mothers. Anne could sense the heat of motherhood's torch coming towards her as she considered the pair, but she could not yet join their society.

"Ah, this mysterious Ruby again," Eugene commented. "I can see the hole she makes in your foursome. The three of you can't stop talking about her."

"Dear Ruby, now, there's a story of unrequited love. She fancied Gilbert for a very long time. Another reason why she ought to have been Elaine." Anne mulled a moment wondering what might have happened if Ruby had been willing to 'play dead'. Anne's brows lifted some knowing Ruby never wanted to—not even now when she was dead. "In fact, she feels more alive to me than ever with Jane here. Which is why I went to her grave the other night to asked her to be my bridesmaid."

"Oh, Anne!" Jane admonished as her sensibilities awaken. "Only you would think of such a thing."

But Diana could spot trouble between her two longtime friends as their personalities clashed. She pulled Jane away from their small congress and down the path. "Tell me more about your son, Jane?" Diana prompted.

"Jane! Diana?" Anne beckoned to no avail.

"Let them go," Helen answered. "Gene can tell you the reason why we got on the topic of the dory was due to me being a bit more forthcoming than necessary. I was complaining about the memories lodged in Gilbert's old room and how they haunt me in my sleep."

"Does Jane know you're a witch now?" Wide gray eyes asked.

"Secret's safe, thanks to Gene."

"I was able to deflect some of Jane's curiosity before Helen had to reveal she was a witch." Gene piped in.

"Thanks for that, I do forget myself at times."

"It's what I do." Gene grinned. He rather missed deflecting nosy people away from discovering the Blythe magic. "Among other things, it's what I do."

"Well Anne, your story answers some of my questions, but not all of them. There's something not quite right. When I was at Four Winds Harbor today, the sensation was particularly strong." Helen's blue eyes darkened. "I felt such a gut-wrenching sadness for this girl in a dory, Anne. It's still connected to you but it doesn't fit."

"It's the legend you're seeing, not my reenactment," Anne explained. "Elaine died from a broken heart. Of course, you'd sense the grief of that."

"I suppose that makes as much sense as anything else," Helen touched her prominent Blythe chin in thought. "But, it still doesn't feel right."

* * *

Dora Keith found her brother in the barn as he retrieved Matthew's big, wooden ladder from its many pegs at the gable end.

"I 'preciate you helpin' me," Davy grunted as he steadied the ladder as best he could. It wobbled on the hard floor, the base of the rails were no longer flat and flush to the ground from the splintering wood. Davy pondered if he ever got dreadfully bored, he could spend a fortnight just sanding it smooth. He advised Dora, "Grab some gloves from the bench."

Dora's eyes darted around before she found a rough worktable in the corner of the structure. She normally didn't go this deep into the barn, leaving the domain for Davy and the other menfolk that Marilla hired to work the acreage.

What she saw on the table peaked her interest. There, on the flat surface, was an embroidered picture of a bird still in its hoop, ready to be pinned to a wall. She wondered if Davy had taken up needlepoint. If so, she could help him improve. The stitches were large and the threads thick. It was a crudely fashioned presentation.

"Check the drawer," Davy wheezed. "Hurry!"

 _Right,_ _the gloves!_

Dora scrounged the bench's drawers; opening them and digging through their bellies until at last, she found something that might have been worn by the great Matthew Cuthbert himself.

"Have you taken up embroidery in your spare time?" she asked as she put on the very old, leather gloves that had lost their luster and flexibility. She turned over the project and saw the word "Marin" penciled on the back.

Davy was too busy judging the dimensions of the barn against the ladder and ignored her question.

"I should have waited for you, but, I didn't know this old thing was going to be so heavy. Help me lean it back so it doesn't fall?"

Dora took one look at her brother who was positively dwarfed by the ladder and ran over to aid him. "Like this?" Dora grabbed the rails and relieved Davy of the fear the ladder would escape his control.

"Yeah, that will do," Davy had a bit of a height advantage and guided the ladder's descent. The nearest wall braced its mass as it was angled down. When it was on the ground Davy dabbed his brow to remove the sweat building in his hairline.

"That was close!"

Dora stared at him, "What is this about? Surely Marilla doesn't want the gutters cleaned."

"Please don't suggest that!" Marilla couldn't stop cleaning and was running out of things requiring her attention. "I told Mrs. Lynde and Marilla I would hang the swags and buntings in the orchard, and then, Mrs. and Miss Marin sent Anne and Gilbert a tree ornament as a wedding gift."

"Oh, is that what I saw on the table?"

"Yep," Davy stepped over the ladder so he and Dora were on opposite sides and ends. Their twin-senses told them where the other needed to be. "Mr. Blythe brought it over last night, told me to hang it up high in the orchard. It's supposed to encourage birdsong."

"Birdsong?" Dora grunted now as they carried the ladder outside and towards the apple and cherry trees. It was not light and her muscles strained. "Most of the songbirds are long gone."

"You never know, it could work."

Davy heard his sister's doubt and silently prepared a lie in case she asked more. Mr. Blythe said the ornament was a talisman. Millie had stitched the bird and Mrs. Marin put bits of animal charming magic in it so the birds would come and sing. He had no plans in telling her outright the Marin's secret but at the same time, he didn't want to rely on falsehoods.

As luck would have it, she didn't challenge him.

"How is Miss Marin doing in Cuba?"

"It's hard to say. I'm not allowed to write her directly, only in the care of her grandmother. But, her grandmother writes she is adjusting. Maybe she is a bit lonely."

"You miss her?"

"I do. I miss her all the time," Davy confided as they came to a stop at the orchard gate.

He had no say in the matter of her departure, but the lack of one eased his heartache. Their separation wasn't his fault or hers. And he honestly felt he had done his very best to show Millie he was still there for her, no matter how great the distance. But, it was only after Millie had left the grief set in. He recognized the same hurt in his sister, only, her mourning started months before his and still continued. Davy admired Dora all the more for leaving Ralph, because she had done it for him.

"Dora—did I tell you that Ralph apologized to me?"

Dora snapped her head around to look at him. "No, did he really? Why didn't you tell me before?"

"He apologized a few days before Mrs. Marin showed up in Avonlea," Davy answered. "Her leaving made me forget to tell you."

"You forgot about me?" Dora sounded hurt. "Davy!"

"I'm telling you now, trying to make it right."

Dora swallowed down the isolating anxiety of being forgotten. "Well, I think we're even. I never thanked you, Davy." Dora was willing to be fair. "Because you never told Marilla—did you? That it was Ralph that hurt you."

Davy shook his head 'no'. "I had my reasons not to, believe it or not."

It was the birds that reported Ralph's treachery with their well-aimed poo. Davy worried that his telling Marilla would start a line of questions that would make it impossible to keep his promise about Marin magic. But, Dora had heard Ralph's confession—Ralph had told him as much.

"You never told Marilla either."

"I might have if she had asked why we call it off," Dora said as she bore her end of the ladder. "Haven't you noticed, she never asks me _anything_. I'm just a 'good girl' and nothing else."

"You're a lot more than that and I'm sorry Marilla has a hard time showing she loves you."

If Davy's hands were free he would have hugged Dora with one arm. Instead, they were employed in the task of moving the wooden ladder. It was a great relief to the both of them when at last they could drop their loads.

"So, you do see it? How I'm ignored," Dora responded. "I mean, even you forgot about me."

"I'm sorry, Dora." Davy stuffed his hands into his trouser pockets and moseyed up to her. "But, you're not wrong. I just hope that with Anne marrying Gilbert, Marilla might talk with you more. Things will change. You'll see."

They positioned the ladder under the boughs over the minister's podium. Davy's mind's eye placed the fabric swags and buntings. The dark green leaves were a perfect backdrop to the flags and canopies Anne wanted to add. The talisman would blend right in. Davy hoped that there was at least one songbird on the island left to sing for Anne and Gilbert.

Davy and Dora spent the rest of the day moving the ladder and hanging the decorations. It was towards the close of the day he was able to place the tree ornament high above the chairs. Dora helped him by stringing yarn through the small eyelet at the top of the hoop and by holding the ladder as he ascended to highest tread.

He hated heights but he loved Millie and would do anything she asked. He pulled the end of a tree limb down and secured the talisman by winding the yarn around the flexible bough a few times. The branch then snapped back into position in a way that felt satisfying. Millie's magic was still part of his life and he heard a wren chirp.

Davy relived a bit of his heartache as he descended the treads the ladder, once again separated from Millie and her magic. His pain could not be helped, not until he was old enough and he had money enough to go to Cuba and woo her back home. Dora, on the other hand, chose to leave the person she loved.

"I think I might owe you an apology, Dora."

"For what?"

"You know I don't like Ralph, but, I had no idea how much your separation from him would hurt you." He wondered if he might regret his next statement, but, Ralph had apologized and he was keeping a respectable distance away. Davy's own lonesomeness made him generous. "I say this because I don't want you to hurt. That was never my intent. Fix it with Ralph, but be sure he knows, if he does anything like had did in the past, or hurts you, he will be the one to have a 'fall in the woods'."

* * *

Green Gables, on the destined morn of Anne's wedding, was perfumed with the enchantments of a painstakingly prepared potion designed to bring two people (and two families) together forever. The ingredient of friendship was tossed into the cauldron a long time ago when Gilbert relinquished Avonlea school for Anne. And a few years later, Gilbert offered the seasonings of love and devotion. It might have taken his enchantress a few years to appreciate the gift, but when she did, Gilbert was quick to seal the pot with an engagement promise. Three years did the mixture stew.

Today he and Anne would lift the lid and pass their tonic to all gathered to witness their love. Anne Shirley and Gilbert Blythe would never be individuals again. They would be partners in life: They would be partners beyond death.

This scent threaded itself throughout the house as a sunny orange haze pulsed into the kitchen and forced atypical behaviors on the folks therein. At the cook-stove, it was a calm and cool Mrs. Lynde fixing breakfast as Marilla was too busy wringing her hands and fretting.

Rachel put a stack of pancakes on the buffet next to Marilla's best plum preserves and Davy transferred a few layers to his empty-again plate. It was one of the few mornings where he received no comments about his appetite. He could eat twice as much as the rest of them combined if they let him.

"You and Dora got _all_ the swags and buntings up last night?" Marilla addressed her son. She had to wait for Davy to stop chewing before he answered.

"Yep!" Davy chugged down his water and scraped the syrupy remains into the tines of his fork and licked it clean. He then pleaded, "Mrs. Lynde, I don't suppose I could have some eggs?"

"No, not today." Mrs. Lynde said. "All the eggs are in the cake, that's what!"

"Oh," Davy's disappointment didn't last long. He took a different plate and stacked it with a couple more pancakes and a dollop of jam. Mrs. Lynde almost said something about his greed when he ejected, "Dora needs this. She's busy doin' her hair and didn't want to waste time downstairs. Besides, I know you'll want to talk to Anne as soon as she comes down, and, you won't want me and Dora around for _that_."

Marilla blanched at Davy's inference but couldn't say anything from the shock. He was old enough to know about honeymoon nights after all. She managed a stern nod to indicate Davy could go.

Mrs. Lynde clipped her forbiddance short seeing as Marilla excused him. Normally, Marilla didn't allow snacking in bedrooms, much less meals. But this month had been a month of ignoring things. It all started with that gift Miss Minerva Tomgallon sent. Davy may not have understood or cared about it, but its message hadn't escaped Marilla's or Mrs. Lynde's notice. But what could they say to a twenty-five-year-old woman marrying a doctor?

"It's a miracle that Anne's not pregnant, that's what! Young people are _so_ fertile, Marilla! You'll see how quickly they'll outgrow that icebox." Mrs. Lynde spoke as an expert on the matter. Her grandchildren were popping out babies at an alarming rate. Her Yankee grand-daughter was going to have twins.

"I really dropped the ball there, didn't I?" Marilla admitted, but she knew she wasn't really to blame. It was their decision even if she did grieve it. "Three years is a very long time when you're in love."

"You've still got Dora, Marilla." Mrs. Lynde reminded her. "Don't fret!"

"True—but today it's all about Anne," Marilla said as she collected Davy's used plate. "And I've got five hours before she ceases to be mine—knowing her, she'll manage some scrape of epic portions."

* * *

Davy knocked at Dora's door before opening it. "Breakfast for the best twin sister in the world!"

Dora sat at her vanity, in her bloomers and chemise, quietly unwrapping her many rag curlers. Her knee-length hair was a mess of blonde crimps tumbling every which way and out of control. She employed her wide tooth comb to separate her waves without adding frizz and ignored Davy as he passed the plate of food under her nose.

"I did leave some for you." He then bleached and smacked his lips. "Tasty the first time, tastier the second."

"Davy, that's disgusting!" But Dora was looking at the food with some interest and took the platter out of his hand. She used the fork and portioned a morsel. "Did Mrs. Lynde make these?"

"You know it." Davy paced to the other side of her vanity and admired the fancy dress Dora had waiting on the outside of her armoire's door.

"Is that the dress you're going to wear?" Davy thought it might be a bit grand to babysit children in. They were in charge of the toddlers before the ceremony started. He tsked and Dora knew he thought her dress inappropriate for the occasion.

"I hope Anne will ask me to be her bridesmaid when she sees me in it." Dora had sewn another ruffle on it last night, using her Helen-taught skills to make a faux train. Her dress was as nice as Anne's, maybe even more elaborate.

"Oh, Dora!" Davy's stomach sunk to his feet and it had nothing to do with the fourteen pancakes filling his gut. "Anne would have asked you by now. This is Anne we're talking about, she's been planning her wedding since birth."

"Yes, I know, but . . . I can't stop hoping."

She turned and stared at her gown, ready to go. It was palest of pink with lots of frills. Dora was sure when she put it on, it would transform her from invisible to visible. Everyone there, everyone important to Anne, would finally see her and think, "Dora Keith makes a fine sister."

"Wear the yellow dress," Davy suggested.

He somehow could see Dora outshining Anne if she came downstairs in this standby. "I know I made a big fuss about the yellow dress last year when you chose to wear it for Mr. Marin's funeral, but it is a nice dress."

Dora mused over Davy's suggestion as she finished her breakfast plate and rested it on the foot of her bed. It was her nonverbal way of telling Davy it was time for him to leave. She picked up her corset and Davy raced to the door.

"See you downstairs, and think, next time we eat, Gilbert really will be our brother."

"Thank you for bringing me breakfast, Davy," Dora said as the door closed.

Dora approached her closet. It was then she realized she might have just asked Anne if she could be her bridesmaid. But Dora had held out for the hope of being selected for the honor. Anne wouldn't hurt her feelings if she asked her if she might. Dora gritted her teeth as she removed the pink gown from its hanger.

"I'll just have to make Anne see what a good bridesmaid I can be."

* * *

"I don't want to hear it, Davy," Dora said as the two of them corralled the Wright children in the orchard. "I worked really hard sewing this dress and I want to wear it. And I am going to be Anne's bridesmaid, I just have to ask her. Anne wouldn't hurt my feelings."

Davy emitted a deep sigh accompanied with an enormous eye roll. He was about to disagree with Dora, but as he searched for the right words, he caught the sight of Mr. and Mrs. Barry approaching with their sixteen-year-old daughter in tow.

"Oh, crap!" Davy swore and then he clapped a hand over his mouth hoping that Freddie Wright hadn't heard. He had become quite the blurting mimic.

"What?" Dora asked as one of Freddie's balls rolled over her foot.

"Here comes Minnie May."

Now it was Dora's turn to roll her eyes to the forthcoming spectacle. Everywhere Minnie May Barry went, she caused a commotion. She dressed like a boy, trying to pressure her parents as much as she could to let her go to Queens. They had told her, only boys belonged in high school and college and although Anne Shirley was smart, her education was a wasted now. Girls did not need higher education. Minnie May thought otherwise, so, until her parents relented, she would be their 'boy'.

But the small lad and lass did not see this part of their Aunt Minnie May's rebellion. They only saw the love she had for them.

"Auntie M! Auntie M!" they grinned as she stepped into the playpen. Fred Jr. zoomed to her side as fast as three-year-old might go and small Anne Cordelia toddled behind him with her grubby hands up.

Minnie May scooped up her niece and kissed her cheek. "How's the nicest niece in the world?"

Small Anne Cordelia didn't reply but picked her nose and showed off her booger.

"What happened to your hair?" Fred Jr. asked with his head tilted way back to see all the way up to Minnie May's face.

"What's wrong with my hair?" Minnie May almost shouted, so that others, particularly her parents, might hear.

"It's so short!" And Fred Jr. ran his fingers through his own soft locks and produced a toothy smile. He was so excited to see his aunt that he couldn't help but jump a bit at the base of her feet. Minnie May leaned so Freddie could touch her very short hair and Anne Cordelia kicked her legs.

"I know! Isn't it great! I look like a boy now, don't you think? I told your grandmother I want to go to Queens and when she said no, I gave her my braids. . . alright Miss Squirmy-Wormy, down you go."

"And what did that prove?" Davy asked as small Anne fell on her butt and Dora scrambled to rescue the girl's dress from grass stains, "You got yourself in a heap of trouble for that."

"Big changes cannot happen without little ones preceding it." Minnie May rebutted. "I'm all for women rights and universal suffrage you know. I'm going to study law and be my own support and then, maybe, just maybe, I'll get married."

But as Davy and Minnie May sparred back and forth, Dora once again got that invisible feeling. If people were looking their way, they weren't seeing her. Only Minnie May and her new eccentricities. Dora glanced up at Anne's garret window. She'd have to go inside and interrupt her grooming. The desire to be her attendant had grown into an unassuaged need.

Dora excused herself and dreamlike walked towards the lawn, pass people sitting in the chairs, pass the crowd on the veranda and almost made it to the oak door.

"Dora," a voice called after her. "Dora, wait, please."

Dora stopped and turned to face Jane Inglis. And not far in the behind her, she saw Jane's brother, Ralph Andrews too. He was wistfully looking her direction and then caught himself gazing. When he looked away, his blush magically transferred to Dora's face.

"Your dress is so beautiful," and Jane's gloved hand slipped into Dora's and they took a few steps away from the busy doorway. "Too beautiful, Dora—Anne _must_ be the star today."

"But—Anne doesn't have a bridesmaid and I was hoping. . . " Dora was tired of explaining. "I was about to ask Anne if she might let me."

Jane leaned into her would be sister-in-law and smiled sweetly. "Dora—you can't be Anne's bridesmaid, although, you'd be a lovely one. Anne told me the other day she asked. . . "

"No. . . Anne didn't ask anyone." Dora interrupted to her own dismay. Not since Davy had shut her in Mr. Harrison's toolhouse had she felt such alarm. Trapped and forgotten, how long did she sit inside that dirty, cold, rat-infested shed until someone noticed her missing? Hours and hours. It was hard not to panic.

Jane's face softened in sympathy once Dora's apologetic eyes floated back up to hers. Jane took Dora's other hand now, she had a feeling Dora would take the news hard.

"Anne asked Ruby Gillis to be her bridesmaid."

"What?"

"I know, it doesn't make sense to me either. That's what she said yesterday when I was here."

Dora's head filled with the sounds of her own circulation. Her heart pumped extra hard. _Thud_ _-thump_ _. Thud_ _-thump_ _. Thud_ _-thump_ _._ She couldn't have heard correctly.

"But Ruby Gillis is dead." Dora growled, "She asked a dead girl?"

"That's right," Jane truthfully repeated as she squeezed Dora's trembling hand. She prayed that her color might return soon.

"Anne doesn't care anything about me, does she?"

"Now, now. . ." Jane soothed as Dora used a hand to wipe her face. "I'm sure that's not true. Anne can be a tad odd."

"Anne never even considered me." Dora frowned. She didn't understand why a dead girl made a better bridesmaid than she, but it was an Anne-thing to do. "I'm such an idiot."

The ceremony was about to start. Reverend Allan had walked around them on the way to the orchard. Jane had to leave or forfeit her place. But Dora was still shaken up.

"Dora, I can't leave you alone like this, so upset, come with me—we'll sit in the back, together," but Dora wouldn't budge. So, Jane then motioned to her brother who was observing them a polite distance away.

"Ralph! Ralph! Dora needs you!"

Dora ignored how her heart lurched with some trepidation at the word 'need', she didn't want to admit it, but it was true. She needed him to see her, and she thought, if nothing else in the world was certain, she could at least rely on the fact he would. Ralph remained in love with her, or so Jane kept telling her in private. Dora pivoted her neck and found herself staring back into his wonderful eyes. Eyes that expressed admiration and instantly, Dora's strength buoyed.

"Ralph, will you stay with Dora until she calms down?" Jane pleaded.

"Yes, of course, I will," Ralph assured.

For Ralph's part, he had found the last year of his life unbearable without Dora Keith and her kisses. He swallowed as Jane moved Dora's hand out of hers and into his. When he felt Dora's clutch, Ralph took a step closer and kissed her on her cheek.

Jane excused herself, returning to the chairs in the wake of Anne and Gilbert's procession. With everything that was happening around them, they were oblivious to anything else. Not even the wedding march had made their notice.

"Don't you have to be at the service?" Ralph offered his arm so he could properly escort Dora to her chair up front.

"I should be," Dora whispered. "They. . . Marilla and Mrs. Lynde, they won't miss me."

"You can't blame them for that, I've got dibs on missing you first. I've missed you enough for everyone else combined." Ralph captured her stunned expression. "Dora, I still love you. I always will. Will you not forgive me too? It's been awful without you."

It was the Christian thing to do, to forgive and turn the other cheek. "I'm sorry I ran away, Ralph."

"I understand why." Ralph hushed. "I can wait if that's what you want. I'm actually learning a lot about agronomy at Queens. I won a scholarship and I can put it to good use. For us, that is."

"Ralph, I wasn't ready . . ." Dora considered her next word. Would propriety win out when she so desperately felt a void in her heart? She was a year older now and naturally wiser. "I wasn't ready. . . then."

"Then?" Ralph's broad chest spread and his face flickered to new life. Did she mean what he thought he heard?

Dora squeezed his hand and motioned to the vacant house. Everyone was outside, in the orchard watching Anne and Gilbert's wedding service. "Ralph, no one is going to miss me," Dora said. "We can talk in my room."

 **to be continued**

* * *

*Anne of Green Gables, Chapter XXII: _A Solemn Vow and Promise  
_ **Gilbert Blythe is the namesake of my mother's concrete garden frog. He was named back in 1989 after I had watched AoGG: The Sequel and fell in love with Jonathan Crombie's portrayal. Today, after many decades, this statue is still affectionally known as Gilbert.

* * *

A/N In the next few chapters, I will be taking more liberties with canon, introducing people and starting events in a different order and not using some characters at all. Doing this will give me a shorter narrative.

I am considering writing some epilogues, particularly, one for Davy and Millie in Cuba. My problem is that this is during a critical time for Cuba with the Spanish-American war coming up in 1898 and I'm afraid my knowledge of this time period is limited. I could just ignore these things, but, I would like to have some authenticity behind my setting. If I cannot be historically correct, I would at least like to avoid being historically wrong. If you can offer me your ear to help me bounce thoughts, I would be most appreciative. Please PM me.


	30. Married

Timeline - _Anne's House of Dreams._ _  
_For a shorter narrative, I am combining the events that occur in this book and introducing ideas and characters in a different order. Some characters I am not using at all. It is very helpful to know the events of this book still even if I elect to take liberties here and there.

* * *

Warning: Sexual innuendoes  
Special thanks to _**MrsVonTrapp**_ for the beta reads.

* * *

 **Chapter 30: Married**

The house of dreams featured a brand-new bathroom, complete with toilet, sink, and tub. The fixtures gleamed shiny new and reminded Anne a lot of the fancy hotel room that she and Mrs. Lynde stayed in for the Medical School's gala. Anne half expected to see the portrait of a scantily-clad woman on the wall but instead saw only pearly white paint. She sat on the bathtub's lip and reached for the hot and cold taps. Once she had balanced the temperatures, she replaced the plug and let it fill.

She carried in the crook of her arm one of her wedding gifts. It was a collection of bath oils and salts from Philippa's mother, Mrs. Gordon. Anne opened the box of bath candy with reservation as strong perfumes bothered her delicate skin and the last thing she needed was to add an irritant to the water. A few salt packets were labeled, "for vitality", "for sleep", and "for aches". Anne removed the "for aches" from the pastel array and sniffed it, trying to judge for herself by its scent if she should try it. Her nose couldn't distinguish the formula, but on the bright side, the whiff she took hadn't made her sneeze. It seemed promising and she needed the aid.

She tore the package open and poured some of the crystals into her hand. Epsom salts. That's what they reminded her of. They had bits of herb and pink rose petals for scent, but, by and large, the fancy concoction inside the teal paper was plain old Epsom salt, the same stuff Marilla bought from Blair's.

Anne sprinkled the tub with the pink petals and white grains and let its wrapper fall to the floor. She folded her clothes into squares, making a logical pile for dressing after she was done, and protected the bundle from droplets with a big, fluffy white towel.

Anne dipped a toe into the claw-footed tub, testing the temperature once more. It was warmer than normal but not too hot. She allowed the temperatures to blend as she wound her long, red braids to the top of her head. Once secured with a few big hairpins, she put on her bath-bonnet.

The hot water felt wonderful as she slipped her body into the steaming pool. Anne dozed with one foot perched on the ledge. She had quite forgotten where she was when she heard a noise downstairs.

Someone was moving through the house. Someone that said he'd be gone all day.

Anne's foot plunked back into the tub and she wished that the evidence of her presence wasn't spread out on the floor. The tub was deep, deep enough she could sink into it and not show her head. But he'd know she was in it when he saw her things littered everywhere. She hoped that the door wouldn't open as those familiar footsteps encroached closer. She was naked and felt insecure. There was nothing to hide behind, no curtain or suds.

"Hello? Anne?" Gilbert's voice came into the hallway.

Anne calmed a tiny bit hearing his voice. _It's not a big deal, it's just Gilbert._ He'd be keen to see her in her original form. The water distorted and, in some places, amplified her nakedness. Her sudden shyness baffled her, but then, it wasn't like he could really get a good look when they were under the sheets. What if Gil found her breasts disappointing? She didn't have a figure like most girls, not circles, but triangles with droopy points. Her corset did a lot to enhance the little she had.

Anne pulled her legs up to her body to hide her front. Modesty at all cost to protect her person.

The door creaked open. Gilbert sensed his wife's unease. "Anne?"

"Yes, I'm taking a bath." Water sloshed as her soap fell off the ledge. Anne girded herself with a big breath.

"I'm coming in, alright?"

"Sure," Anne heard hesitancy in her voice and she chagrined to it. How could there be impropriety to see one's spouse without clothing? She pressed her bosoms tighter to her thighs and hugged her legs.

After shutting the door, Gilbert stood there looking at her balled up body. Her eyes were wider than he had ever seen them before. As lovely as her face was, he found himself regarding her neck. Its curve was as alluring as ever. She stopped wearing chokers long ago, but, that didn't mean his favorite place to kiss was any less sexy. He was more careful now. He wanted to kiss that graceful slope and absorb the wet, floral scent. He returned his gaze to hers, her eyes striking for its vivid green clashing with the purple headpiece. Of all the things he might have said, he heard himself utter.

"Nice hat."

Anne's throat tightened as she pretended that his staring was not happening. "I thought you were going with Uncle Dave to the Moore's?"

"Turns out, Mrs. Moore and Mr. Moore weren't there." Gilbert approached now and squatted low, never taking his gaze away from her face. "It's just as well when you're so beautiful sitting right here. To think I almost missed this moment."

He leaned in to greet Anne properly with a kiss. It was as if his kiss unlocked Anne. She brought her hand to his jowl and held it there, directing his mouth to her lips where Gilbert treated her to a trinity of pecks, each one more passionate than the last. He drew away and smiled as Anne allowed her breasts to float.

"I spoke with their border, and Anne, I might not be able to help Mr. Moore, magically that is. Uncle Dave said he came back from Cuba simple-minded and Mr. Ford's comments support this. Mr. Ford was very talkative. I guess Mr. Moore gets boils. He said 'furuncle' though." Gilbert chuckled. "He's a writer, Anne. Uses the fancy, technical word for a rather un-fancy condition."

"A writer in Four Winds?"

Gilbert confirmed with a nod and he tapped her nose. In his eyes, there was only one writer worth his time, and he married her.

"A journalist then. Next time I go there, I'll offer to lance Mr. Moore's boils. And then I'll get a chance to read him. Diagnose what's wrong. But from what Uncle Dave said, I don't expect to be able to..." Gilbert cut himself short. He wasn't going to think about what he couldn't do but focus on what was possible.

"Gilbert—you can't heal everyone, nor, should you." Anne squeezed his hand with her own and then cupped his face again. She dragged her thumb over the end of his bushy mustache and brown whiskers turned black from the moisture. "You're not just a witch with supernatural healing powers, you are a good physician too. You wouldn't have passed medical school with honors if it weren't so."

Gilbert kissed the inside of her wrist before she drew it away and back into her bath. He stared into the water now, feeling as if he secured permission. His finger tapped the floating pink petals and he realized that the bath was still very warm. Almost too warm, but, that wasn't what bothered him about her retreat. For some reason, he recalled a conversation they had years ago when Anne told him that she hated preparing baths for Mrs. Hammond and avowed to never bathe for the sheer pleasure of it. Saturday night suds were good enough.

Gilbert looked around his feet and saw the spent wrapper. The text was upside down, but it didn't stop him from reading _For Aches_ anyway. And like a match strike, he understood her predicament.

"Why the Tuesday bath, Anne-girl?"

Anne's temper flared. That was all the answer Gilbert needed, but far be it from Anne not to speak her mind.

"Gilbert, you must know that you are a husband of size and substance. A great provider in every sense of the word."

Gilbert's diverted his face because he could not contain his grin. It was so Anne to admonish and flatter him at the same time.

"Anne, if you hurt, I can heal you!" Gilbert teased. "All I have to do is—"

"Don't you even!" Anne shook her head vehemently as his hand hovered to touch her. _No, no, no._

"Next time, I could use my second body and change some of my dimensions."

"Gilbert Blythe!" Anne's jaw unhinged, and Gilbert laughed harder than he had in a long time. "Don't you ever, _ever_ , think about doing that! Now that I belong to the sisterhood of wives, I insist on paying my full dues." Anne splashed, dousing his roguish face.

Gilbert picked up the towel and rubbed his smile dry. He had a curious expression, the type that made Anne brace herself, unsure what he was thinking. Gilbert placed the towel over his arm, and then, stole her clothing.

"Gil!" Anne called for him as he opened the door. "Don't leave me like this."

Gilbert looked back with mischief contouring his expression. "I'll be right back. I promise."

 _Well, this is a fine kettle of fish._ Anne straightened her bonnet and anxiously eyed the door. Maybe she ought to make a run for it, but where could she go when she was wet and naked? He'd like that, and they'd probably end up doing things negating any help the soak gave her.

As promised, Gilbert returned, wearing nothing but the fluffy, white towel.

Anne's face heated as she couldn't take eyes off his middle. Her jaw dropped. Anne realized her expression and then sharply turned her head away and tried to find something fascinating at the opposite end of the tub. But in all honesty, she couldn't help her own curious sideways glances.

"Anne, look at me please." Gilbert stood with fists on hips.

Anne's lips were pursed, and she heard herself whistle as she considered how to do what he asked. She didn't want to invade his privacy by fixating on his center. So, before she pivoted her head, she first tilted it back to make sure her gaze landed on his face and nowhere else. His eyes held a ridiculous amount of mirth.

"Anne, be honest with me. Do you think I've gained weight since we've married?"

"Weight?" Anne shook her head and smirked. "No, Gilbert, you're being silly. We've only been married for three days."

"Are you sure?" Gilbert asked, "I'm not getting flab on my belly, am I? Take a look, be honest."

Anne tightened her lips as she moved her eyes down his hairy chest to his navel. His belly button was prominent, not hidden by fat. "Nope, you're good."

Then Gilbert presented his profile and pointed out his hip. "Are you sure I don't have a love handle? Look again."

Anne hitched her breathe and took a second look, once again, trying to see only his waist but naturally seeing a bit more. Along the side of his leg, at his thigh, a jagged and angry scratch ran. Anne touched it, concerned.

"How'd you get that?"

"Someone needs to trim her toenails."

"Oh-" Anne turned her head away in horror. "Oh Gil, I'm sorry."

"Anne, it's alright," Gilbert assured her. "I..I didn't even notice when it happened. Frankly, I'm rather proud of it."

"You're proud of it?"

"It's a love wound." Gilbert beamed. "It means we're having fun, does it? We belong to each other, mind and body."

"I suppose you have a point." Anne arched.

Gilbert chuckled at her observation. "Scoot down please, I'm getting in."

"Gil! I don't think you're going to fit." Anne protested as he entered from behind. The water table rose in unison with his movements.

"Oh, I'll fit. It will be a tight squeeze, but, there's room."

Gilbert's legs popped up beside her. Anne never noticed his toes before. Those digits were freakishly long with tiny nail beds. She placed his shapely man feet on the edge of the tub as she nestled somewhat in the gap of his legs.

"See, nice and cozy."

"Says you," Anne retorted, feeling a bit smashed. "Why do I feel like we keep having the same conversation?"

Gilbert's arms came around her body and he kissed the base of her neck a few times.

"I am so sorry if I hurt you, Anne." His contrite voice and tender gestures sent shivers down Anne's spine as he caressed the shallow of her neck with his lips. She responded by holding his arms against her chest, inhaling deeply, and wishing that he might never let go. He kept sounding, in soft mutters, "I love you so much, Anne. I'm so sorry if I caused you pain."

"Don't apologize for something I wanted to do too." Anne leaned back against his chest, freeing her breasts to his palms. She wondered why she had been so self-conscious when he found her. She loved how he held her, how his thumbs brushed over her peaks.

"This feels familiar, doesn't it?"

Anne turned her head to look him in the eye and shook her head in consternation. "Gilbert, why are still wearing that towel on your head? You look ridiculous."

 **to be continued**


	31. Pregnant (Part 1)

Timeline - _Anne's House of Dreams._ _  
_For a shorter narrative, I am combining the events that occur in this book and introducing ideas and characters in a different order. Some characters I am not using at all. It is very helpful to know the events of this book still even if I elect to take liberties here and there.

* * *

 **Chapter 31: Pregnant (Part 1)**

Helen Blythe, age thirty, ran her serviceable hands along the edge of the parchment with what Diana Wright later called 'a misplaced reverence'. The black ink was now dry and prominent on the vellum, the script itself a work of art, ready for a Charlottetown gallery instead of the home Helen and Katherine would one day buy.

Diana seemed nervous when she brought Helen into her parlor where it was kept. Her misspent energy lingered until Helen said, "Wow!". The always humble Mrs. Wright had retained her place as one of Prince Edward Island's best-kept secrets. Diana's calligraphy was unequal, even to professional artists. And Helen observed Diana flushing with a tiny bit of pride as Helen's fingers pressed a kiss into the words.

Diana penned Aristotle's famous quote, _"Love is composed of a single soul inhabiting two bodies"_ and added the names Helen Blythe and Katherine Brooke directly below the sentiment. With her blue and yellow inks, Diana drew paisleys in the margins, making the lettering more prominent with the border. The added detail of the paisleys had been the hardest part, each one unique and requiring some practice before committing it to the final document.

"It's perfect," Helen announced. "So elegant!"

It said everything Helen wanted it to say to a future caller to her residence. The visitor would know in a glance the female homeowners were espoused to each other. Just like husband and wife, they were married.

Diana's black eyes twinkled under the crown of accomplishment. "I thought the word 'love' might be ambiguous. So, I added your names." Diana faltered a bit at Helen's still stunned expression and strangely, apologized. "I know it's not exactly what you asked for, but I thought it better than mimicking the gobbledygook of a legal document, which no one would read anyway."

"Diana," Helen couldn't believe the uncertainty in the scribe's voice. "I love it and Katie will love it too. I'm sure of it!"

"Good, because it's a relief to be done." Diana relaxed and placed a protective sheet over her work. "Fred and I can store it for a while until you and Katherine are settled. This represents a lot of work. I had to practice the paisleys some first."

"I hope you didn't work too hard, Diana. You must, _must_ take care of yourself first!"

Helen had wondered if Diana was expecting. She questioned the way Diana moved. Now, the fit of her clothing gave her the answer. A seamstress since age ten, Helen couldn't stop her skillful eye from noticing Diana's clothes lacked ease and drape. The horizontal folds gathering at the seams of the bodice shouted there was a baby bump underneath the fabric.

Pregnancy was hard for Diana and she miscarried frequently. Her last child was almost lost as well. It was Bertie that saved small Anne Cordelia with his powers. Maybe the healing was so thorough, he had cured Diana from having any more miscarriages hence. He claimed to have blasted her for all his worth.

Diana swallowed her laughter, forcing an unattractive snort from her nose. The palm of her hand stroked her growing abdomen. "This one won't let me rest, the little dancer she is. Although, I'm glad that the morning sickness is over. And, I'm fine, thank you for asking.

"When is Katherine coming back to Prince Edward Island? I hope before this baby comes."

Helen sighed, happy to hear that the pregnancy was going well this time. "She comes back at Christmas and returns in February. She travels with the Premier as his general secretary and goes wherever he does. She's new to his office so she gets stuck with some of the more unpleasant tasks, which makes her indispensable, I suppose."

Diana nodded as Helen paused.

"She loves her job—and London too."

"It's hard to believe I'm friends with someone so well connected," Diana said. "It's like knowing someone famous! I hope you bring her here one day. You're always welcomed."

Helen was always welcomed at the Wright's, but the invitation had an agenda attached to it. Diana hoped that one day she might introduce Minnie May to Katherine Brooke as another example of a modern career woman. Katherine could mentor her in a way that Diana and her parents couldn't. She was so proud of her little sister, her 'dress-like-a-boy' behavior was only a means to an end. Minnie May skillfully orchestrated their parents' agreement that she might pursue her education after all.

Though Queen's was out of the question. Permission came three weeks into the school term and Queen's had rules impossible to circumvent. But Anne's recommendation secured Minnie May a place at Summerside High School. In return, Minnie May promised to follow the socially appropriate dress code for a Summerside High School co-ed. No more trousers! And she would allow her hair to grow. The Barry's had had enough gossipy backlash from Avonlea matrons.

"I'll see what I can do," Helen said, herself pregnant with a worry that grew with each post from England. "I don't think she really wants to come back to PEI. Kate would be content to stay in England. And if she does stay, your hard work will be for nothing."

"What do you mean?"

"It's just that I can't go with her. I can't leave the island."

"Sure, you can," Diana put an arm around Helen's hunched shoulder and squeezed until Helen straightened. "Let's go have some tea, shall we?"

* \ * / * \ * / *

Diana grabbed the chartreuse kitchen towel to insulate the iron kettle as Helen lowered herself into a chair. A few minutes later, Diana filled their teacups and placed the teapot on the Lazy Susan between them. It swiveled a bit and Helen chuckled at its appeal. It was such an odd and practical device as Diana showed Helen how it went around and around, circling back time and again.

"Tell me again why you believe you can't leave the island?" Diana rotated to Helen the sugar and the milk.

"You know why." Helen dunked a lump of sugar into her hot beverage. She swiveled the sugar bowl back, still marveling at the contraption's utility.

"Actually, I don't." Diana sipped with a sympathetic smile, waiting for her answer.

Helen was sure she had told Diana before, but the poised and attentive face she looked at tested this assumption. Perhaps she hadn't. No matter, there was time to retell it.

"My powers, back when I could see the future, warned me not to leave the island. I was so reluctant to come here because I knew Prince Edward Island would also be my prison. I just know I can't leave."

Diana blinked at first, spinning her mind for a response. "You most certainly haven't mentioned this before. I've never been off the island myself. It makes me so sad to believe you regard your stay here as a prison."

"No—not a prison," Helen tried to edit her statement without much success. "A trap? Sometimes, it doesn't feel that way, but lately—it's ever so much more on my mind. What would happen to me if I try and cross the straight? Ever since finding a home for Bertie and Anne at Four Winds Point, this hunch is reinforced. The ocean is a beast—taking and giving maidens. It's an interchanging wheel of fortune. I just know that I will lose myself if venture off the island."

Diana leaned back into the lumbar of her chair, somehow connecting this phobia to Helen's other magical complaint.

"Helen, does this have something to do with your dory premonitions? Your report about the girl lost at sea haunts me too. To think, it might have been Anne if not for a hole in the hull."

"I think it does. But it's all confused. I mean, how many stories about a girl in a dory does one island have, anyway? But it's easy to forget that history likes to repeat itself, circular like it is." Helen spun the Lazy Susan bringing everything full circle. "I'm sure now it was two different dories and therefore two different girls. But I still sense Anne in both, even if I know it can't be. Anne wasn't even born back then. And the sad girl begs for me to see her story. I keep trying but I can't connect."

Helen animated her frustrations with a shrug and then cradled her temples and eyes. She didn't want to admit it, but more and more of her time was given over to this foreign memory. The desperate girl was running away. Her sorrow unequal to anything Helen had channeled before. Helen needed to know what happened.

"Anyway, I'm afeared if I try to leave the island, like this sad girl, I'll cease to exist, just like her."

"Helen," Diana brought her cup down to respond to the bold declaration. "You have such a beautiful gift. Even without the ability to divine the future, the things you see are so amazing. I can't tell you how your powers work, but, I can tell you that sometimes you're so empathetic, that someone else's feelings become your own. Are you quite, _quite_ sure it is your doom you sense?"

A sweeping peace smoothed the anxious lines in Helen's forehead. "Anne's mentioned that before, that sometimes I get so wrapped up in the another's thoughts I can't know my own."

Without warning Diana cried, "Oh!" and then dropped her focus to her middle. She put both hands on her belly. "He kicks so hard."

"I thought you just said it was a she!" Helen was pleased to transition the topic to Diana's latest wonder. "Bertie can tell you for sure."

"Really?"

"Oh yes." Helen now grinned.

"He read me when I was carrying small Anne Cordelia and he didn't say a thing."

"That might have been hard to explain at the time with Fred not knowing about his powers."

Helen also knew Bertie's struggled with the concept of _if_ he should tell the expecting parents the baby's gender. When the patient didn't know what he was, him announcing boy or girl was a bit of a surprise.

Diana released another smile and rubbed the spot the baby stubbornly kicked. From Helen's vantage, Diana was positively in love with what was happening to her. The lack of novelty didn't make the experience less wonderful.

"Diana—may I feel?" Helen was already reaching her hand forward when Diana placed it on top of the moving rise. The baby inside of Diana responded with another twitch and his mother laughed along with Helen.

"Helen, can you tell if it's a boy or a girl?"

"No. I used to know when my powers included clairvoyance." Helen's fingers pressed into Diana's belly. Something clicked as she felt the movement within Diana's warm body. The sad girl haunting her had also kept a hand on her abdomen while the current dragged her out to sea.

* * *

Anne Blythe oft wondered if her house of dreams was an antechamber to heaven. Gilbert had warned her, there would be _no diamond sunbursts or marble halls*_ at first, but, Anne felt more than compensated for the lack of them. Every day was a day of beautiful views of woodland and ocean. She was surrounded by Mother Nature and all her resplendent glory. Now that October waned, mornings started with a color diluting frost. From her doorstep, Anne watched red roads blush pink as if embarrassed to see the trees' naked boughs.

From her kitchen window, she read a poem of curling waves and sandy shore. Up and down they went with foam highlighting their crests. Way out on the horizon, brave little ships skirted across the North Atlantic. She felt as if she had watched them before, their coming and going, their activity alive like a heartbeat, pulsing with memories that Anne could almost grab. The tale of the schoolmaster's bride and the _Royal William_ was only one of the vivid fables. Goldmines of poetry and prose whistled past her with the four winds. Providence reunited her with this place, with what was her spiritual home, and she would never to sojourn again.

Anne heard Gilbert answer the office phone from her kitchen counter. It was always ringing and ringing. She stopped her food prep and hoped to hear Gilbert conversing. She gave up when she heard the latch of his office door. The words would not carry. Just his tones clanging in an array of pitches. That, with his slight inflections, made Anne pinch her auburn brows together from concern.

The call was longish, which meant Gilbert was trying to diagnosis the patient with questions or it was a social call of an undesirable matter. Since they were expecting company for the weekend, Anne assumed trouble with the latter.

"Was that Gene?" Anne asked of her husband as he strode back into the kitchen to finish his late dinner.

If Anne had bothered to turn around and look, she might have seen his head shake 'no' from behind the cover of one of his medical periodicals. Gilbert turned a page before sitting in his chair.

Dr. and Mrs. Blythe invited their friend, Dr. Eugene Felder to their home on weekends since he was stuck in Summerside, trying his best to defend his late wife's inheritance. The poor professor had to take leave from his job at Johns Hopkins in Baltimore. Her will declared that Mrs. Pringle's estate was to be liquidated and divided among her offspring's families. But Gene's late wife's siblings aimed to cut him out. Eugene was exhausted from the infighting. Brother against brother, sister against sister, and all of them against him.

"What time does his train arrive?"

When Gilbert did not answer her first question, Anne assumed she was correct, that the caller was their friend. Plus, if the caller had been a patient, Gil would have hurried his black coat on and grabbed one of his medical bags.

"I think around three o'clock." Gilbert put his reading aside and dropped his napkin onto his lap. He reached for his dessert plate. "Sit with me, Anne. Have some of this wonderful pie you made."

"I'm not hungry right now, and, I've got work today." Anne checked the recipe card Geraldine had given her for Gilbert's favorite potato side. Like her son's penmanship, it was almost illegible. She deciphered _peel and slice three potatoes._

Anne gathered the roots from her pantry cabinet next to the glossy icebox. She tossed her husband a glance and peripherally watched him chew with his mouth half open, relishing his bites. His tongue tasting the last drop of cherry filling.

Anne turned towards the draft as heat flushed her face.

"Will you be able to greet him at the station?" Anne wiggled the brown-red skin off a spud with her paring knife as she spoke.

"Oh, that wasn't Gene." Gilbert pushed his plate back. "I'm sorry to say you'll have to feed him without me. I'm taking the train back to Avonlea about when he arrives, but, I can still greet him at the railway station and show him how to find our home. I'll just get a private compartment en route and bi-locate myself back here."

"Gil—that's sort of risky," Anne advised with an eye roll he couldn't see. He still wasn't very circumspect with his powers. "What if you're disturbed? You're a doctor and people can't seem to leave you alone, and that's more likely to happen the closer you get to Carmody. Folks will recognize you and call you out."

"I'll explain it to Gene," Gilbert answered. "Gene isn't some stranger that doesn't know I'm a witch. If someone does wake up my dormant body and shuts down my second, Gene won't be surprised to see me disappear in a flash."

"It still sounds dangerous." Anne dumped another potato skin into the scrap pile. "Ask Captain Jim if he can help. Owen and I are going over a few revisions for Captian Jim's Life-Book. It'd be a blessing not to have the old sailor around interrupting us. You know, he changes his story a tiny bit each time he tells it. It becomes more dramatic. Owen can't keep up.

"Now, what's going on back home?" Anne worried a bit for Diana. Fred's letter to Gilbert said all was well though.

Gilbert's face fell, he hated giving Anne bad news. "You read Dad's letter the other day about rabies making a come-back?"

"Yes," Anne's cheeks stretched out as she formed the worrisome "oh" expression. "Was someone bitten?"

Gilbert's eyes dulled as he grimaced. "Maybe—Anne don't panic. It's probably nothing. Davy found Dora in the barn crying and vomiting and when he tried to touch her arm, she flinched." Gilbert frowned as he watched Anne's face whiten, making the red tones of her hair more prominent in the cascading window light. "Dora told Davy that a barn cat had bit her a few days ago and her arm really hurt."

"So, Davy thinks that Dora has rabies?"

"That is the obvious conclusion, but Davy never said so outright. It's horrible to think about. I guess the way she flinched made him think it was infected, but Dora wouldn't show him. He says he just knows there's more to it." Gilbert added his opinion to calm Anne's clear anxiety for Dora, "But, I think it's very unlikely, Anne-girl. But, even if it is rabies, I can heal it, no problem. But, I have to go there to be sure."

Anne stared back stone-faced and tried to shrug off her trepidation. "You're right. Dora wouldn't be so foolish to allow anything with rabies to bite her." She knew her statement was absurd. Sick animals might attack anything, including good Dora.

"Anne, Dora will be fine."

Anne had her troubled profile to him now as she sliced the peeled potatoes with her cleaver.

"I'd be very surprised if one of Marilla's barn cats were sick with rabies. It's more likely she has a bad infection from the bite and that's what's making her ill. I'll heal her and come back tonight. And then the three of us will have a jolly time."

Anne checked him again and his earnest expression. "Not rabies?"

"I'll know for sure when I get there."

Anne stepped away from the counter, her hands on her hips, wondering. "I'm surprised Marilla didn't call."

"Well, that made me wonder too. But Davy said Dora has been behaving strangely. A few days ago, she disappeared, and no one knew where she was all day long. I don't think he wants Dora to know I'm on my way."

Anne's face contorted with a new worry as she crossed her arms. "That seems very strange. Now, I'm more worried. Dora's always been so predictable."

"Whatever Dora's situation is, it will be alright. It's Dora. She's a tough nut, always has been."

Anne returned to her kitchen counter where the knife and potatoes waited. Anne whittled away at the tuber, making thin slices. She thought of Dora again and the possibility of rabies and lost control of the blade, slicing off the tip of her finger, just missing the nail.

The pain made Anne scream and the cleaver fell into the sink with a clang. Blood spurted out from her index finger. Her agonizing wail brought Gilbert to her side so quickly Anne later she wondered if flying were a new ability of his. All she could do is hold her finger against herself and crouch over in pain. Everything else was forgotten as she attempted to regain her wits.

"Anne, let me see it!" Gilbert demanded as he tried to draw her hand away from her body.

"Heal it, Gil." Anne managed, as she hung onto his free arm, almost faint with shock. "Please!"

"I'm trying. Hang on."

Gilbert stared at his own hand covering hers, his fingers shaking with his healing magic, but, when he touched her, nothing happened. He felt a block. Providence decided he would not be able to spare Anne this laceration. Gilbert didn't understand as he tried again. Another block. _This should work!_

"Ow! It hurts, it hurts! Please, Gil. Heal it." Anne sputtered back to his apologetic face. "Why can't you heal it?"

"I don't know. Anne, it's like healing myself, nothing happens." Gilbert explained. "I can stitch..."

Gilbert abruptly stopped talking as what he said bounced off the walls and landed in his ears. He replayed his thoughts once more, testing a theory. _It's like healing myself!_ But that would mean. . ! Hallelujah, it would mean!

"Gil—please," Anne's begged.

"Anne," Gilbert caught her attention and her tear-stained face could do little to stop his eruption of joy. "Did you hear what I said?"

"You can't heal me." Anne grimaced, her breath halting and high in her chest. "Why?"

Gilbert threaded his fingers into Anne's hair, trying to smooth out her pained face. He knew he must be a bewildering sight to behold as he shed his own happy tears. He was so surprised, he figured, when it happened, it would be Anne telling him, not the other way around. He couldn't wait for her to understand what he knew had to be true. He dropped to his knees and put his ear to her belly and hugged her legs.

"Anne, Anne-girl. I can't heal you, because. . ." He kissed her lower abdomen. "I can't heal you because I can't heal myself, and, I'm. . ." He rubbed where her womb was. "I'm a part of you. Right now."

"Gilbert Blythe," Anne's brain was still too jolted to process what he had said, "What are you saying?"

"Anne—you're pregnant. I can't heal you, because, you're pregnant with my child."

Anne's jaw dropped low as Gilbert's reaction as starting to make sense. "Say that again?"

"We're going to have a baby!"

"Oh! Well, if it's all right with you, can you fix my finger first?" Anne pleaded, but her eyes refreshed with sweeter tears as Gilbert's diagnosis started to overtake the residual pain.

Gilbert lifted Anne from the floor and carried her into his office where his medical bag waited, kissing her wherever his mouth landed.

"We're going to have a baby, Anne-girl." Gilbert kept saying. He calmed himself, so he could stitch her laceration, but his smile grew bigger as Anne returned his energy.

"A baby? Are you sure? I haven't noticed anything different." Anne timidly touched the spot Gilbert had caressed.

"Oh, yes, I'm sure." Gil returned to his jubilation as he wrapped Anne's cut in gauze. "I can't heal you, I can't do anything magical to you. Your body is changing and I'm part of that. We're pregnant, Anne."

"We're pregnant?" Anne drew back her finger. "I think you might have failed your anatomy lessons, Dr. Blythe. I am quite certain that the female is the one that gets pregnant."

"You needed me though," Gilbert smiled. "We made love and God approves. Oh, this is wonderful."

"It is wonderful," Anne said as she accepted another kiss, the reality sinking in. "A baby. Oh, but don't tell the folks yet, please. Let's tell them later, maybe for Christmas."

* * *

Gilbert could hardly keep his face from cracking into a sunny smile as he drove with Captain Jim to the railway depot. _A baby!_ His dimples were sore from his efforts to stay calm and circumspect. He didn't want to stop gushing on the news and continued to relive it in his head. The discovery had lifted his emotions up to such a happy place, the only sour part was the promise not to tell anyone else. As a medical doctor, he knew that it was wise. Miscarriage happened early on. So, he agreed, but he wanted to sing it out for all his worth.

Gilbert struggled to keep his face cool as Captain Jim spoke of ports of call in South America. No matter how saturated with humor the old sailor's narrative was, Gil considered only his immediate future. _Would the wee one be a boy or a girl?_ His breath went rocky as he imagined tiny fingers clinging to his own. Gilbert glanced at his hands and the brown reins he held, choking back cloying thoughts of rattles and nappies.

"Well, sir. I reckon dare 'tisn't more to say on that." The old man observed a while ago that he lost his audience. "D'ye wish to talk of something else?"

"Oh, I'm sorry. I'm a bit distracted. We can talk about anything you wish." Gilbert apologized.

"Well, in that case, you ricollect d' night I told you and purty Mistress Blythe about my mate, John Selwyn?"

Gilbert gave the old captain a nod. Of course, he remembered his honeymoon night. Talk about one night not quite living up to his expectations.

He brought Anne home to Four Winds Point following their sumptuous wedding feast and tea-time reception only to find his Great Aunt and Uncle staging a surprise supper with Captain Jim as a guest! He bore up as best he could to that meal, though his appetite was for something else. He would take it to his grave, but, the young doctor felt it was an awful joke he had to suffer through as all he wanted to do was hurry Anne upstairs to their bedroom.

"I'm a mite curious. Jest couldn't tell what you thought 'bout ol' John and his powers." Captain Jim remarked, "Mebbe you jedged Four Winds a safe place for witches on our own. 'Tis always been so. Yer safe here!"

Gilbert pivoted towards him in natural consideration. Did he know that he was in fact, sort of like his buddy John? He couldn't tell by the chap's posture as he tipped a hat to a passing pedestrian.

"All the Glen knew 'bout the schoolmaster's powers, the witch he was. They didn't use that word though. It's true enough, John cast a spell to bring the _Royal William_ to port and Persis Leigh to his side." Captain reviewed Gilbert's now colorless face. "All that walking along the shore was his summing the winds to do his will. Fetching the _Royal William_. D'ye know dare four winds and witches belong together? A man like John could summon the winds for a big spell, but the winds can do the same and call for a witch. Yer summoned here, I'm sartan on that. 'Cuz yer special."

Gilbert laughed as he suddenly appreciated his Great Uncle Dave's stance to deny witchcraft and supernatural powers at all times. His mentor's approach was consistent, pragmatic and wise, but Gilbert didn't have the heart to imitate it. He really didn't think anything nefarious would come out of Captain Jim knowing about his powers, but, he held back just the same, trying to find the middle ground.

"Sounds like you've made up your mind about me."

"Course I have, Doc Blythe."

"That won't do. Please call me Gilbert, Captain Jim, or Gil."

"Alrighty, Gilbert then, I'll keep tryin' to get yer name right, jest don't hold me to it." Captain Jim remembered how he had to correct the young Doc from introducing him as Captain Boyd the night the newlyweds arrived at the schoolmaster's house. "But ye sorter git me off my point. Yer here for a reason, I knows it."

Gilbert ignored the uncomfortable feelings of exposure and expectation. Captain Jim might be confident in his assumptions, but, they were still only assumptions. Gilbert couldn't think how the old sailor would know beyond a shadow of a doubt that what he alluded to was true. That the current resident of the schoolmaster's house was a witch also. However, that said, Gilbert saw a full circle. What was true in the beginning was true at the end.

His house of dreams was built by a witch. _What were the chances of that?_ It wasn't like being a witch was normal. It was an oddity, a weirdness even. There was something in Captain Jim's comment about the four winds and witches complementing each other. Two witches at Four Winds Point. No—three witches. Gilbert shook his head remembering to include his aged uncle, Dr. David Blythe, with himself and John. It was a mite curious.

As the silence lulled, Gilbert also remembered how another witch, his cousin, found the place. It didn't seem so coincidental anymore. Goosebumps erupted over his arms as he remembered Helen's spooked voice advising that the house was so perfectly suited for him. Gilbert glanced over to Captain Jim. His conclusions didn't seem so foolish. From his point of view, the accusation he made was logical.

 **to be continued**

 _*Anne of the Island - Chapter XLI - Love Takes Up the Glass of Time._


	32. Pregnant (Part 2)

Timeline - _Anne's House of Dreams._ _  
_For a shorter narrative, I am combining the events that occur in this book and introducing ideas and characters in a different order. Some characters I am not using at all. It is very helpful to know the events of this book still even if I elect to take liberties here and there.

* * *

 **Chapter 32: Pregnant (Part 2)**

Gilbert Blythe jumped down from the buggy before Davy had it at a complete stop. Davy waved him off with a "see ya in a bit" just as a strong wind forced Marilla's sorrel to turn the opposite direction. Davy barked "haw" to correct the trajectory and tugged the leads with shoulders that now seemed too broad for a boy. Gilbert did a double and then triple take as he watched Davy drive the rig into the sheltering stable. He last saw Davy two months ago, but it seemed like two years. Davy the boy was no more.

He had shot up a few inches like a tall, narrow weed and his once dirty blond hair had darkened into a light brown. Gilbert mourned the chance to bid the child good-bye, but found comfort in getting a sneak peek of Davy the man. He was going to be the solid and sure-footed type, in the same mold as his relative, Matthew Cuthbert, and probably just as kind.

Gil liked the idea of having a peer in his brother and yet, he was really going to miss the little kid that once looked up to him with huge, expecting eyes. But another child would take that place. If brotherhood was any indication, fatherhood was going to be a blast. He walked to the door on that bubble of happiness.

"Dr. Blythe!" Mrs. Lynde said as he stepped across the threshold and into Green Gables.

"Evening, Mrs. Lynde," Gilbert took off his hat and put it on his labeled peg.

Gilbert smiled more pointedly back at the matron, her silvery-gray hair in a soft bun. For a brief second, he felt as if he ought to kiss Mrs. Lynde on the cheek and had she stuck out her chin requesting, he would have obliged.

"Well, don't you have a strut in your step. Married life suits you, that's what!" Rachel's brown eyes twinkled at the same speed of his own.

"You're as outspoken as ever, Mrs. Lynde" Gilbert beamed, though he refused to reward her with any dimple of embarrassment.

Gilbert placed his leather medical bag on the floor to remove his wraps and almost sighed as the "you belong" feeling hit. Marilla Cuthbert was nothing if not consistent in her housekeeping and sparse decoration. Everything was the same, except for... How did Mrs. Lynde greet him again?

"Oh, Mrs. Lynde, I insist you call me Gilbert, just as you always have."

Rachel clucked and waved a hand, "Well now, I suppose I might make an exception just for you and drop the 'doctor' part, but I don't normally abide by such informality, not when someone's earned a proper title." She leaned in and whispered low as if it mattered. "Truth is, I'll never get used to calling Moody MacPherson 'Reverend'. I just can't do it, that's what! It doesn't fit in my head that a boy with such floppy ears could be our Lord's mouthpiece."

Gilbert chuckled as he bent down and picked up his indispensable bag. Everyone he knew had a difficult time referring to Moody as 'Reverend', no matter how many times Moody and his mother insisted on it. The pastor was generally known as "Moo-Reverend" in Avonlea.

"You, however, look the part." She came in closer to inspect his appearance just to be sure.

Gilbert ran his palm over his lips and felt his mustache. "Do I have something on my face?" He was about to check the mirror next to the hat stand.

The widow's expression lit with glee as she gaped. "Oh, it's happened, hasn't it, Gilbert? Well, you sure didn't waste any time, did you?" She picked up his hand and petted it in some sort of congratulatory fashion.

Gilbert backed away from her growing smile. She was no witch, but she did have this innate ability to draw out information. He sought help from statuesque Marilla.

"Gilbert," Marilla's welcome was warm but inflected with surprise. "What brings you to Avonlea? Is Anne here too? Is she outside, talking to trees?"

"No," Gilbert shook his head. "I—"

"Marilla!" Rachel cut him off as she relinquished Gilbert's hand, so she could clap and point. "Don't you see it? The way Gilbert's eyes are. Look close."

"Rachel—let the poor man breathe." Marilla stepped forward to assist Gilbert out of the entryway. Rachel remained stuck to his side like a barnacle on a ship's hull. To congest the foyer further, Davy entered from outdoors bringing Dora.

"This is your surprise?" Dora sourly frowned at Davy as Gilbert pivoted to see the twins. Her face was pink, but not necessarily from the cold.

"Yes!" Davy said and then mouthed, "Who better?"

"Hello, Dora!" Gilbert grinned at her and lifted his bag.

Her eyes regarded Gilbert's pose. From Davy's anxious face to Gilbert's expecting one, she gleaned the reason for his call in no time. She nodded "Gilbert" with an air that would make Anne proud.

"You'll be joining us for supper, won't you Gilbert? I have plenty." Marilla said as they shuffled out of the foyer and into the kitchen. The air smelled of meat and potatoes and Gilbert's mouth watered.

"Well, I mean to only stay a short while. I don't want to impose."

"Stuffin' nonsense," Marilla ushered Gilbert the dining table and pulled a chair. "Dora, please set another place for Gilbert. What brings you by?"

"Gilbert can have my place," Dora said before Gilbert could answer. "I'm not very hungry, may I be excused?"

"No, you may not be excused." Marilla's agitated voice replied. "Gilbert is our guest tonight. We're going to have a nice family supper. Now, please set a place for him."

Dora complied in a haughty manner that burned the air. Gilbert wondered about Dora's behavior. When Davy called to say that Dora didn't seem like herself, and was possibly sick, he thought Davy was mentioning a change in Dora so subtle that only Davy, her twin, could see it. But a dark and dreary cloud hung over her and the discord was palpable as she set his plate down. He gave Marilla a questioning look that went unanswered. Marilla wasn't sure what was wrong with her stable, reliable and resilient girl either.

"Marilla!" Rachel stamped her foot to wake them all. "Gilbert's gone and got Anne pregnant, haven't you?"

"Rachel!" Marilla hoped Gilbert would forgive them all for Mrs. Lynde's rudeness. "Have you lost your mind? What has happened?"

"We all know how it happens." Rachel waddled next to Gilbert and winked, "It really wasn't by magic, was it?"

That did it. Marilla stood horrified as Gilbert's hue turned carroty red. Davy's mouth opened to reveal the dinner roll he nicked from the bread basket. Even Dora paled at Mrs. Lynde's accusation.

"Mrs. Lynde—you're making me blush," Gilbert feigned coughing, trying to cling to the remnants of his secret, but realizing the futility. He felt hot under the weight of their eyes. "Anne must have called and told you when I was on my way. We found out a few hours ago."

Everyone was jubilant now, everyone except for Dora, who kept her balance by placing her hand on the counter.

Mrs. Lynde wore a smile so big, Gilbert made a mental note to speak to her about her lower bicuspids. "You know, Gilbert, I was only guessing! That's what!"

"No!" Gilbert tossed his head back and then laughed. She had got him and got him good. "We weren't going to say anything, and now, everyone knows. Anne will _kill_ me. How did you do that?" Gilbert demanded.

"Simple! I saw you jump down from the buggy. You looked like a cat that caught a mouse and I made a logical guess." Mrs. Lynde rubbed his back in a congratulatory fashion, "There's no shame, Doctor. You and Anne are married now. Bound to happen at some point, I say!"

Dora vanished into the hallway.

"A baby, I haven't knitted booties for years!" Marilla considered, trying to suppress her own joyous reaction with practical thoughts. "I wouldn't want him to have cold feet."

"It's a girl," Gilbert announced. He didn't know why he said that, but, it was like he just knew. "I mean—I don't know for sure, but, I just have a hunch. I haven't even told Anne that yet."

"Is it true?" Davy finally swallowed. He stared up at Gilbert with his youthful, "I want to know!" face. Not more than twenty minutes ago, Gilbert thought he'd never see it again.

Gilbert's hazel eyes twinkled a confirmation. "It's too early to celebrate."

"I'm going to be an uncle!" Davy cried, not listening at all.

* * *

After supper, Gilbert asked Dora to follow him into the spare room. He liked this room with the bundling bed. He and Anne had spent many nights there learning how to sleep next to each other with the board guiding their behaviors. The board was put away now. The mattress and squashy pillows were covered with one of Mrs. Lynde's apple-leaf quilts. Marilla's spare room felt close to his own. Gilbert crossed the room and sat on the side of the bed.

Dora stood near the door, looking unsure and exhausted. She barely moved throughout supper. Barely said anything at all to the happy news. She had always been quiet, but now she was drawn into her own world, hurt and depressed. Gilbert didn't know how bad her melancholia was, but judging by her changed spirit, it was debilitating her.

"Dora, how are you? I feel like we haven't spoken for the longest time." He tried to sound chatty and approachable.

Dora was slow to answer him. Her eyes blinked some sort of apology. Gilbert still exuded safety, even if his arrival felt odd.

"You didn't have to come, Gil. I know you're here because of Davy." Dora's voice was soft and controlled, but she said everything with an insistence that threatened to become fierce. Her posture was ramrod straight as opposed to Gilbert's sitting slouch. "Davy...he thinks he knows so much, but he interferes. He shouldn't have called you."

"He's your twin, Dora." Gilbert reminded her of a truth she didn't care to hear. "He loves you, both of your brothers do."

"Gilbert," Dora let some of her posture go, feeling a bit more at ease. "That's very nice of you to say, but, you're really not my brother. And Anne's not really my sister."

"You just try to tell her that." He had her attention. "Anne was very worried when I told her there was this tiny possibility..."

"I lied to Davy," Dora confessed. "There was never a cat bite, or a fox bite, or anything that would give me rabies. I said those things because I was furious. He gave away the only thing we had left of our mother, her engagement ring. So, I pushed him away when he tried to touch me and then made up some dumb reason as to why."

"Wait," Gilbert turned to the wall as if he could see through it and back into the kitchen where Davy was no doubt still eating. "He asked Miss Marin to marry him?"

Dora shook her head. "No, he gave our mother's ring to her, so she might sell it if she had to and run away. He said it gave her a choice when her future looked so uncertain. It never occurred to him that I might need it instead."

"Hence the fight with Davy." Gilbert agreed in part, "Davy should have asked you about it before giving it to her, although his reason was noble."

Dora looked down at her feet. "I wish he had asked me first, because now—well, it's my ring too."

As true as Dora's statement was, it wasn't what she was going to say. It seemed to Gilbert she was going to say her future was uncertain. Gilbert paused trying to work out a reason why. His stomach knotted as he concluded a horrible prospect. Dora's puzzling behavior fit the scenario he suspected. Gilbert's jaw jutted as he hoped he was wrong.

"Why Dora? Why do you need it?"

Gilbert's lips almost carried a smile, enticing her to confide in him. He was listening, trying to understand. It was when he blinked down and then lifted his chin to reclaim her gaze, Dora realized Gilbert understood too much.

"You were going to run away?"

Dora stiffened, her face defiant to his question. She looked to the door and wished herself invisible.

Standing-"Dora, what are you not telling me? You look terrified."

He approached her with an open hand and she took a step back, almost tripping on the hem of her dress.

"Gil," Dora raised her hand up to him, "Stay back, please."

"Let me read you," Gilbert begged, now convinced that his horrible assumption was true. He steadied his voice as he spoke. "My powers won't hurt, I swear. My hand will get warm, but that's it. I promise. Let me help. Please? I came all this way. Let me go home knowing all is well. I don't need to be a witch to see something is very wrong, Dora."

It pained him to see her regard him with fear. Where was the little, pig-tailed girl that hugged him during a thunderstorm because Anne's arms were full of Davy? That was their first meeting, Gilbert had called on Anne and found himself trapped at Green Gables until a deluge ended. Even back then, he had gotten the too serious Dora to smile.

She turned away and reached for the knob. Now that her back was to him Gilbert allowed his face to fall. How could he make her see he loved her as a brother should? He told her about his magic and she wasn't telling him her secret.

"Dora, you're not being fair to me. Please, give me a chance, like I gave you one."

Dora's hand was on the knob, but she let go of it as she looked back at Gilbert.

"What do you mean I'm not fair?" Dora quizzed. It was a strange accusation. She thought she was more than fair. She was always last in everything.

"I told you I had supernatural powers. If the wrong person learns that, they can make my life very difficult. And that's happened to me too. And, it wasn't so long ago, I would have been burned at the stake for witchcraft. I trusted you, please, won't you trust me?" Gilbert swallowed. "Please?"

"Davy told you to tell me." Dora retorted and then she considered the door once more. She eyed the handle, indicating she wanted to be excused.

"It was Davy's idea," Gilbert acknowledged. He walked around her and placed his hand on the doorknob and cracked the door open, showing her that she was free to leave if she really wanted to. Gilbert added, "Dora, I never meant for Davy to find out. That wasn't my choice. But you're different. Special even! I chose to tell you. Out of everyone that knows I'm a witch, you, Dora Keith, are among the very few that know because I wanted it. I picked you, Dora. Does that mean anything to you at all?"

Dora stared back at Gilbert as he swung the door a little wider, but now she couldn't move. After a few beats, Gilbert shut the door and held out his hand again, asking her to take it.

She did.

The first thing Gilbert noticed was Dora's elevated heartbeat. It was quicker than he would have preferred. He told himself if she were truly scared, that might be enough to escalate her natural pulse. There was no rabies or any infection. He didn't see anything physically wrong. Yet, his suspicions were confirmed as his magic probed deeper. She carried the separate energy of a child. A boy whose energy tickled him back, as if saying, "Hello Uncle Gil". A beautiful and happy boy, only...

Gilbert's face cracked with concern because it was worse than he feared. Rather than let Dora see his reaction, he wrapped his left arm around her and pulled her into his embrace. He let go of her hand to complete his all-encompassing hug. He didn't know how to tell her. Sometimes, he hated being a doctor.

"Dora, I think you know some of what I'm about to tell you." Gilbert found his voice as Dora lost her composure.

"Please don't," Dora spoke onto his buttons and then muttered. "I know what you're going to say. I know and... Oh, I'm so ashamed of myself. So ashamed."

"Don't be ashamed," Gilbert asked of her. "Work the problem. I'll help, alright?"

Dora pulled out of his hug and used the back of her hand to dry her cheeks. Water still brimmed in her eyes, but she nodded, trusting him completely now.

"Have you told Ralph?"

Dora's reaction caught him off guard as her spine melted away and she headed to the floor in a crying heap. She quaked at the mention of her lover. Gilbert saw enough in medical school to know violence was a component in many relationships. Gilbert lifted her with his own strength. He had already made up his mind to call the Charlottetown constable to have Ralph thrown in jail if he harmed her.

"Listen, Dora, there's nothing you can't tell me. You know that, right? You're always safe with me." Gilbert kept nodding his head and until he saw her mirror his gesture. He supported her sides and asked the dreaded question, "Ralph, didn't force you, did he?"

"No."

Gilbert breathed easier.

"So, you two made love. It was consensual?"

Dora nodded.

"You have to tell him."

"He knows." Dora whispered, "I went to Charlottetown to tell him at his boarding house." Dora bit her lip and inhaled through her nose, building her strength. Gilbert felt her hands grip his forearms for support. "He said he couldn't be the father. He said..." Dora trembled again and Gilbert had her sit on the bed. He squatted before her and waited for her to continue.

Whispering too, "What did he say?"

"He said that he timed it right and I couldn't be..." Dora shook her head, confused. It was a mystery to her. "I don't understand, it's Ralph. Only could be Ralph."

"Dora, I believe you. We'll go back, and I'll explain it to him. I'll make him see."

"No!" Dora stood with a suddenness that nearly toppled Gilbert. "I'm not going back. Do you hear me? He said..."

Dora hitched her breath and let a few fat tears drip down her agonized face.

"Just tell me," Gilbert encouraged. "One time—just say it one time and have some peace. You deserve some peace."

Dora squeezed her eyes shut and formed the word on her lips, a word that made her nauseated. She had to force the word out of her body and was louder than she meant.

"Whore."

Now Gilbert started to shake with revulsion and anger. "He said what?"

Dora sobbed, "He called me _that_ , Gilbert. Ralph said I was a _whore_."

Gilbert put his hand over his mouth, physically holding back the curses he wished to chant. He was a doctor too, he knew how to hide the body. After the shock dissipated, he reached for his sobbing sister, and said, "It's not true, Dora." He massaged her shoulder and a second later, she volunteered herself to his sheltering hug.

"I've got you, it's alright," Gilbert echoed the words of their first encounter. "This will pass, I promise you."

"He dumped me, Gil. He thinks I've been sleeping around. He was so angry with me, so angry." She cried into his ear. "I loved him so much, but when he called me _that_ , I just wanted to curl up and die."

"No, no, no, Dora." Gilbert's hug tightened. "You can't die. It would break my heart. It's not true. It's absolutely not true."

"It's sort of true." She pulled back a bit to see his face. "I seduced him during your wedding."

"Is that where you were?" Gilbert didn't bother to push his tears off his face, letting the salt stain his palette as they rolled into his lips. "I wondered where you went to. So did Anne. She was going to give you her bridal bouquet at the end of the ceremony. She wanted to surprise you."

Dora wailed as she understood what might have been, all she wanted that day was a bit of recognition and now her life was a mess.

"Dora, that doesn't make you that word Ralph called you," Gilbert reassured. He was a little shocked still, but he had learned when he taught school it was the quiet ones you had to watch out for. "You were lonely, weren't you? And Ralph, a boy you've loved for a very long time was there. It's all very understandable."

"I'm sorry, Gil. Oh, gosh, I'm so sorry. Please tell Anne, I'm sorry." She pleaded at Gilbert with the saddest face he ever saw. "I would have been so proud to receive those flowers. Forgive me."

"I forgive you and I know Anne does too. Dora, you're a human being, capable of all sorts of mistakes."

Gilbert handed her his handkerchief and had her sit down again. There was something he still needed to tell her as her doctor, and then, the worst of it would be over.

He didn't get the chance. They heard Marilla and Mrs. Lynde shouting "Davy" at the top of their lungs on the other side of the wall. A moment later, the house vibrated from the heavy, oak door slamming shut.

"Oh God," Gilbert said, remembering how Davy could be impetuous. "Dora, you don't suppose that Davy was eavesdropping, do you?"

"I... I wouldn't put it past him."

Gilbert rose, crossed the room, and stuck his head out the door to hear what the ladies were saying.

"Rachel, what happened?" Marilla's voice boomed from the parlor. "Davy loaded Matthew's pistol and ran out of the house saying he's going to kill someone. Where's he going?"

"Marilla," Mrs. Lynde bewildered voice overtook the air. "All I know is he was waiting and waiting for Gilbert to get done examining Dora. I was busy putting up the dishes. I wasn't paying attention. He marched through the kitchen and headed straight for the gun locker."

Gilbert shut the door. He didn't want to leave Dora in such a raw and fragile state, but he was the only one physically capable of stopping Davy. Her eyes were red from crying and he wanted to stay with her and give her some protection from a questioning Marilla and Mrs. Lynde. But Davy complicated the situation and weighing his options, he prioritized what he had to do.

"Dora—Davy's going after Ralph, right now, with a gun." How much did Davy overhear? "I must stop him… I'll use my second body. It will go quicker."

Dora stood as Gilbert approached the bedside. She wanted to ask what he was doing as he took off his shoes and lounged. The curiosity of his actions paired with the urgency in his voice was a sobering puzzle.

Gilbert explained. "I can project myself across space, but, I'm asking you, watch my dormant body and make sure no one wakes me up."

 **to be continued**


	33. Pregnant (Part 3)

Timeline - _Anne's House of Dreams._ _  
_For a shorter narrative, I am combining the events that occur in this book and introducing ideas and characters in a different order. Some characters I am not using at all. It is very helpful to know the events of this book still even if I elect to take liberties here and there.

* * *

 _Content warning - swearing  
_ _Special thanks once again to **MrsVonTrapp** for the beta reads of this chapter._

* * *

 **Chapter 33: Pregnant (Part 3)**

Finding Davy was easy. He wasn't even a quarter of a mile away from Green Gables. The difficult part would be stopping Davy as he marched towards the Andrews' farmstead. In his hand, he swung what appeared to be a very old and probably unreliable dueling pistol. His carelessness concerned Gilbert. For all Gil knew, the gun could explode from being jostled. Yet, Davy proceeded ignorant of anything but revenge. He was so unaware of his surroundings, he had forgotten Ralph wasn't even in Avonlea. Ralph was in Charlottetown!

This wasn't Gilbert's first attempt at disarming someone with a firearm. Two Christmases ago he tackled Fred and stopped him from using his shotgun. He could do that again, but as soon as Gil considered the option he immediately scrapped it. Fred's rifle was big and stable. The pistol was small and uncertain. Davy might fall on it and find himself mortally wounded. Even with healing powers available in his dormant body, Gilbert wouldn't risk it.

For a while, Gilbert racked his head for a spell to jam the pistol, but couldn't think of one on the fly. Unlocking Tomgallon's file cabinet had been his solitary attempt of that sort of discipline. Jamming the gun would require precision and Davy's quick pace prevented Gilbert from even making the attempt. One misplaced word might produce a dire consequence rather than the desired.

He could swoop in from overhead as an owl or hawk and use his talons to carry the pistol away. But he hesitated to act on that idea too. Talons would tear up Davy's coat and hand. There would still be a struggle and the gun still might go off. There was nothing to stop Davy from trying to defend himself from a bird of prey.

Gilbert needed to neutralize the danger by getting rid of the bullets. What if he got Davy to fire those shots off first? Maybe instead of stopping Davy, he could give Davy a target, something big and frightening. _A bear!_ He could form his second body as a big, hungry, Canadian grizzly bear and scare Davy, causing him to fire those rounds. _Yeah, that might work_.

 _Or, I could form as Ralph._

Gilbert's heart skipped. It was so simple, just give Davy exactly what he wanted. Ralph Andrews _._ With any luck, Davy would make good on his sworn objective. It was just his second body at risk. Nothing permanent would happen so long as he kept himself fluid.

"Davy!" Gilbert-as-Ralph shouted from the side of the road. "Looking for me?"

Davy stopped in his tracks as his nemesis walked out from the darkness and into his crosshairs. Davy blinked hard a few times, testing that what he saw was really there. Almost as an afterthought, Davy remembered the gun in his hand.

"Ralph, you're a God damned piece of shit for what you did to my sister! You stay where I can see you." Davy pointed his gun with an ease that would have surprised Gilbert if he wasn't so suddenly nervous. The two-barreled pistol looked a lot bigger at the other end.

"Now, you're going to pay!" Gears clicked as the firearm was cocked. The gun seemed to shake a bit in Davy's hand, and then, it steadied.

"No, wait!"

Self-preservation set in when Gilbert heard the gun discharge, not once, but twice. Even though his second body was flexible, it did not stop him from feeling the bullets whizzing through his specter. The inertia caused him to fall. Gilbert shuddered on the ground for a second or two and sensed his dormant body shaking, struggling to maintain himself as a Ralph Andrews projection.

"There, I got you, you piece of shit!"

Davy repeated this statement a couple of times, adding explanations for his behavior, such as, "You had it coming" and other choice words underscoring his thoughts. But the more Davy said these things, the less convinced he sounded.

Gilbert could see Davy's outline approach and could not animate. He needed to shut his Ralph-body down and reform as himself, his default semblance.

Davy's breath smoked white as the weapon fell from his limp hand. He stared at his victim's still and glassy eyes. Gilbert thought he saw a brand-new panic disfigure his face. Davy buried his reaction in his hands as dropped to his knees and crouched under the weight of being a murderer.

"Oh God, I killed you!" Davy's statement was not one of pride, but was penitent. "Ah, shit, Ralph. Look what you made me do! You deserved it too. You did!"

Finally, Gilbert moaned, "Davy?"

Davy dropped his hands from his face as he heard his name. _Was Ralph dead or not?_ Davy crept closer on his hands and knees to the body that lay on the ground, just in time to witness its disappearance in a sudden puff of wintergreen scented mist.

"What the...?"

His heart thumped extra hard as he reached forward to feel the vacate spot where Ralph had been. Slowly, he sat back on his legs and stared into the darkest part his surroundings, completely confused and terrified. _Where did Ralph go?_ Davy tentatively stood and did a sudden about-face and collided into Gilbert.

"Watch where you're going." Gilbert stepped back in surprise.

"Oh my God, Gilbert!" Davy circled the ground in strange and expressive dance, pointing and gesturing. "I shot Ralph and..." His frantic pantomime continued with hiccups of speech that explained where his flailing arms failed. "He was here on the ground, toes pointed to the sky, and he vanished right before you showed up." Davy's last sentence was spoken with a dawning cadence. "Hey, wait a second!"

"Whoa, Davy!" Gilbert put his arms up as he let Davy plow him down. At least if Davy was going after him, he wasn't going after Ralph.

"That was you the whole time, wasn't it?" Davy flipped Gilbert over to his back and held his arms. It had been a long time since Gilbert had been made immobile.

"I'm sorry, Davy, but I had to stop you." Gilbert struggled against Davy's pin. "For your own sake, but for Dora's too." Gilbert pleaded with his eyes for not only for Davy to understand, but to free him.

"That was a mean trick," Davy informed him, letting Gilbert go.

"You're right, that was a horrible trick." Gilbert rose from the ground as Davy dagger-eyed him. "You've got what you wanted, you shot Ralph dead. Even if it was by proxy. But I saw your reaction too. Killing Ralph doesn't seem like such a brilliant idea anymore, does it?"

"Ralph still needs to pay! How could he call Dora a whore?" Davy grunted back. He wasn't going to deny the remorse he bore for a few seconds. Incongruously, Davy also remembered how delighted he was to see Ralph fall. "What he did is inexcusable, Gilbert. He deserves it. Something has to be done!"

"All in good time," promised Gilbert. "But not this way. There are more urgent matters, but later on, we'll retaliate. Davy, you forget, she's my sister too."

"You mean that?" Davy quizzed.

"Of course I do. Once Dora's crisis is over, we'll think of something."

Davy shivered as an icy gust swept through him. He had departed Green Gables without his hat or gloves. He braced himself and tucked his bare hands into his armpits against the wind. As they hurried back, Gilbert got an earful of all things Ralph.

"Gil, I believed his apology. I thought him sincere." Incredulity emoted from Davy's statements.

Gilbert sympathized. He too assumed most people walked the earth to do good and that most were trustworthy. It was always a hard lesson when someone failed to return basic human dignities.

Davy continued, "And he respected Dora when they broke up by not infringing on her time. So, I told Dora to go back to Ralph and try to fix things, as, I thought he changed."

"Davy—this is not your fault if that's the point you're trying to argue." Gilbert placed a comforting hand on Davy's shoulder. "You've tried to be Dora's keeper in the past and never could. This is no different. You're not to blame! And if you were to ask me, I would say on the whole, you've shown that you have a very heroic heart."

"Because I want to kill him?" Davy muttered as he shrugged off Gilbert's hand. No amount of flattery would offset the anger Davy still felt, even if he was convinced that murder was probably too extreme of a response.

"No, you're a hero because Dora was going to run away." Gilbert stopped walking and so did Davy. "You stopped her from doing that, whether intentional or not, you saved her life."

"What do you mean?"

"When you gave away your mother's diamond ring, you saved two girls, your twin and your sweetheart. You gave Miss Marin means to escape and simultaneously removed Dora's."

"But Dora doesn't have to run away," Davy argued. "Just because Ralph is a jerk doesn't mean she had to go."

"She's scared," Gilbert reminded Davy. "Having a baby is wonderful when you're ready for it, but it's also a terrifying event if you're not prepared. She not thinking of anything but how to save face and what's best for the baby. She believes she's alone. Very alone."

"But she's not alone." Davy kicked the ground. "Even if Ralph's not interested, the baby will know what it's like to have a father with me as its uncle. And I'll make sure it has a better life than what Dora and I experienced before Mama died."

Gilbert blinked at the man that stood next to him. Davy was willing to step in and support Dora. And, it wasn't outrage spawning his declaration, but love. Gilbert wished Dora could see Davy's tender worry manifest into loyalty. If he was moved, Dora should be more so.

"If only…"

"If only... what?"

"Davy, the baby isn't going to make it." Gilbert shied away from looking directly at him as he mentioned the word ectopic and explained as best he could in layman's terms. "It's not in the right place to grow and Dora could die if she doesn't get proper care."

Davy twisted around to challenge Gilbert with a shaky voice. "She...she can't die from it. Having babies is normal, isn't it? Even if it's not normal, you can fix it, right?"

Gilbert shook his head many times. Magic had no answer for this. Neither did science.

"I can't. The baby will die." Gilbert explained as Davy paled. "The way my powers work, they allow me to heal what's diseased or broken, but Dora is neither. And the baby is healthy too. But when it runs out of room to grow and it ruptures her insides, then, I can do something for her, but not before. It's called a blockage, and women have bled to death from them. It's a very serious medical condition. I can't stress that enough."

The gravity of Dora's pregnancy hit him like a ton of bricks. Davy peered to the "C" in the sky, the crescent moon prominent on a plate of the black night. Like the satellite, his insides had been scoped out and only a crust remained. Davy didn't know much, but he knew he needed his sister in his life. They were born together as a 'we'. Davy had no idea how to live without his twin.

"Shit."

"Davy, I will save Dora when the time comes, but I must stay close to her at all times. I cannot be chasing after you." Gilbert implored for his understanding. "Once it starts, she will need me and she will have my help. But I need you to keep your head. No more Ralph chasing and other foolishness."

Davy agreed. "Gil—if you weren't a witch. What would happen then?"

"There are surgical therapies if caught in time. Most aren't. Some women survive the experience but at a price." Gilbert paused before clarifying, "Internal scars from the trauma can cause infertility. I mean to heal her before scaring occurs, but Dora might struggle to have children the rest of her life."

"Can't you heal a scar?"

"No-" Gilbert twitched his mustache. How he wished he could get rid of scars. "A scar is a healing. A biological one."

Gilbert bit back the rest of his thoughts. He suspected Dora might already have scarring. It would certainly explain why she was in this particular predicament if her tubes were already damaged. He wanted Eugene's input and hoped Dora would agree to see him.

"Davy—now that I've explained, would you… assuming Dora allows it, help me tell her?" Bad news always went better when the patient was surrounded by loved ones. Not that he didn't love Dora, but he had a professional task to perform. He supposed this was why doctors were told to defer their family's medical care to another physician. It was too hard to stay objective. He couldn't be both professional and brother at the same time, although, he had tried.

"Yes," Davy stated matter-of-factually as they reached the gate. "Anything for my sister."

* * *

In the kitchen with Davy sitting next to Dora, Gilbert finally explained the things about her pregnancy Dora did not know. Her face bore the news without change when he told her how her baby boy had settled into the wrong part of her body. She blinked double as she registered Gilbert's real worry, that her life was in peril. Even Mrs. Lynde, who, observing a safe distance away at the cook-stove, expressed shock as she hiccupped air.

"A blockage?" She was biting her lips as everyone turned to stare at her. "Well, Gilbert's right to be worried if it's true. May Providence help us!"

Mrs. Lynde forgot about the tea she had set to brew and buried her face in her white apron. It was her old habit when she needed a moment to collect her thoughts. While she did this, Gilbert's attention returned to Dora. He observed Dora's worry grow from Mrs. Lynde's sad reaction. Mrs. Lynde could not cloak her emotions with a joke.

"Gilbert—I know I'm not supposed to know about your magic. Not really. And, I'm alright with that by and large. Makes for some rather cagey interactions sometimes, but..." She dabbed the corner of her eyes. "I must ask, would it be alright to pretend that I do know about that Midas touch of yours? You _can_ fix this, _can't you_? It's Dora!"

Mrs. Lynde started to cry.

"You don't have to pretend anymore." Gilbert gave her a soft, approving smile as she dried up. "I'm going to do as much as I can, you know that. But it's a conversation for Dora first."

"Of course!" Mrs. Lynde returned to her tea making and headed to the icebox for some dairy.

Gilbert apologetically smiled at Dora, who had gone white across from him. Davy too mirrored this look, this stunned, "Is this really happening?" look.

"Dora? Davy? You take yours with cream, don't you?"

"I don't want any tea," Davy said loudly. "Give mine to Gilbert."

Mrs. Lynde ignored Davy's instruction and brought him a cup which prompted an eye-roll. It wasn't a complaint, it was nervous energy that needed to be expressed. She set Dora's cup in front of her and lingered a moment, taking her time to smooth her blonde hair. She leaned in to whisper, "I put in extra cream for you, dear. And," Mrs. Lynde choked-up saying, "I'm so sorry I yelled at you. Please forgive me."

Dora's nestled her cup, not drinking it, noticing how the generous portion of milk fat muted her tea's hue. Dora didn't like tea, but she recognized the extra consideration Mrs. Lynde had given and she was grateful. She told Mrs. Lynde so when she wrapped her arms around her neck and squeezed.

"Stop it with your kisses," Mrs. Lynde winked at her youngest daughter. "They are too sweet for words, that's what! Big hearts lead to big trouble sometimes, but rather a big heart than a stingy one, I say."

Dora cracked a smile, the first one Gilbert had seen on her all night.

"Mrs. Lynde?" Gilbert hastened their conversation, although, seeing Dora smile once more had been worth the interruption.

"Now, you listen to Dr. Blythe," Mrs. Lynde pulled away. "And remember, I love you too."

"Rachel—would you do me a favor and tell Marilla about the blockage? I don't think she'd appreciate me going upstairs and into her room."

Everyone looked up at the ceiling, Marilla's pacing was loud and sometimes it sounded as if she were moving furniture.

"If you can convince her to come downstairs, that would be helpful to me."

"I'll do my best," Mrs. Lynde pulled the hem of her bodice straight down as she mustered up her resolve.

"Dora, I want you to come back to Four Winds with me." Gilbert tried to phrase his demand as a hospitable request. "Stay with us until the holidays are over. It will give you time to recover, and then you can go back home with Davy, Marilla, and Mrs. Lynde and pretend this never happened."

Dora wasn't so sure. She sought Davy's opinion with a sideways glance.

"Dora, do it," Davy urged. "No one can help you the way Gilbert can. And it will give Marilla time to calm down."

While Davy and Gilbert were outside, Dora told Marilla what Davy overheard that caused him to storm off. She didn't expect sympathy from her and didn't receive any. Marilla angrily admonished Dora for her stupidity and Dora had fired back that Marilla had never been in love to understand. It was then a furious Marilla departed Dora's company.

"You actually think Marilla will want me back?" Dora wondered. She was well aware she was still only a ward and the least favorite one at that.

"After all the things I did when we first came here?" Davy rolled his eyes again and huffed, "Didn't I lock you in a shed and lie about it? Yet, I didn't go anywhere."

"Davy, this is nowhere near on the same level. You were just a little boy. I knew what I was doing." Her words warbled in the back of her throat. "I shamed her and everyone in this house. She has every right to kick me out."

"I'm sure Marilla will take you back," Gilbert reassured. "She's not even sending you away, that's my idea and only so I can heal you when the time comes. A train-ride is too far away."

"You and Anne won't mind?"

"No, not at all." Gilbert knew that he should bi-locate to Anne and ask her opinion, but his magic had yet to buoy and there was no way he was going to telephone Anne, not when Green Gables was on a party line with the Harrison's.

"But you have company this weekend," Dora remembered.

"Dr. Felder will understand," Gilbert said. "Especially if you allow me to tell him the facts of your situation. He might even have some advice—obstetrics is his specialty."

Dora brightened a bit and she placed a hand over the space between her hipbones.

"Can he save my son?"

Gilbert would have preferred Dora's pregnancy be healthy, for her own sake, but he was scandalously happy Dora wouldn't be saddled with a baby at such a young age.

"No," Gilbert answered back with a compassionate shake of his head.

"Why do you want to have the baby anyway?" Davy said more bluntly. "Ralph rejected you and his child. That's not right!"

"Davy," Dora's pinched countenance admonished him into silence. "This is your nephew that's going to die. I want him to live. He's part of me. He's part of you too."

"Why don't you go and pack for a few days and we'll get the rest of your things later," Gilbert suggested. "We need to head out if we're going to make our connection in Charlottetown."

"Alright," Dora stood and when she did so, Gilbert and Davy did too.

She looked at Gilbert and Davy as she pushed her chair back into position. Their standing for her was a caring touch and reminded her that no matter what happened, in their eyes she was always a respectable young lady.

* * *

Gilbert removed his hat from his hook as Dora slipped by on her way out to the buggy. Marilla hadn't said a word of goodbye to her ward, even though Gilbert saw Dora linger in the entryway hoping for an encounter. Marilla's anger was fierce. He had heard her argue with Mrs. Lynde upstairs. Marilla even stomped down the flight of stairs and made her way to the parlor where Gilbert confirmed the diagnosis.

It just didn't feel right to depart with so much unresolved. Gil didn't know what good it would do, but he entered the parlor to try and placate Dora's guardian.

To an outsider, perhaps the scene he walked into appeared normal. Mrs. Lynde sat in the back of the room, knitting. He stared are her for a moment, noticing the pink yarn she worked. He allowed himself a small smile as he thought to the child he was expecting with Anne. Meanwhile, Marilla paced back and forth from bookshelf to table, removing old bookmarks and finding pages of faded correspondence in volumes older than the house. Dust mixed into the air as she worked.

Marilla frowned at Gilbert as she opened the front of a book and revealed a very frail letter. Gilbert recognized the stationery as his grandmother Blythe's. She moved the delicate object to a growing pile of loose documents and returned the book to the shelf.

"Marilla—I know you're mad," Gilbert acknowledged, "But surely you can bid Dora goodbye."

Three things happened in succession to Gilbert's imploring. The first was an audible and expressive huff of indignation. She then gritted her teeth as her eyes flashed a warning, and then she spoke.

"You hear that, Rachel!" Marilla scoffed. "John's son thinks I ought to set aside my anger."

Rachel's eyebrows shot into her forehead and she dropped a stitch.

Gilbert's lips parted in dismay. Not knowing what to do, he took a few steps closer to Marilla as she wiped those old books free of dust.

"Marilla?"

"The last time I was this angry I said things that changed the course of my life." When her eyes found him, he understood that she spoke of her failed engagement to his father. "I don't trust myself right now to say the right thing. My mind is swimming with all sorts, but none of it for Dora's ears. Everything I'm thinking has this edge."

"When you are ready, you're welcomed to come and visit, and talk to Dora." Gilbert glanced down the stack of papers Marilla had built on the table. His breath bated seeing his father's handwriting now. _My darling Marilla_ was his salutation.

"I'm going to call on Mrs. Harmon and tell her Dora is free to marry Ralph." And with much sarcasm, "After all, I don't know anything about love, old spinster that I am."

Gilbert shut his eyes, blocking out the scene of Marilla needlessly dusting the inside jackets of long-forgotten books. She should let that dust stay settled. He did not want to add to her upset, but someone had to speak up for Dora.

"Dora's better off without Ralph."

Marilla's forehead creased and she inspected at him without lifting her chin as she hunched over her collection.

"She's pregnant, Gilbert. Unmarried and with child! Those two _must_ marry now. I'll get out the Papa's shotgun if I have to. Davy and I are cut from the same cloth."

Marilla sighed as her neat pile tumbled to the ground. Marilla squatted and once again, collected her treasured correspondence, the love letters and other tidbits of affections composed by his dad and his grandmother.

"Rachel—I don't suppose you'd sacrifice a length of yarn I can bundle this mess in?"

Mrs. Lynde still in the corner, sat transfixed and muted. Swallowing, she bowed her head and found her scissors.

"The baby is not going to live." Gilbert reminded Marilla. "There's absolutely no need to rush Dora into a marriage. Not to Ralph. Not to anyone."

"She's told Ralph about the baby, and if she's told Ralph, he's told his mother." Marilla put her foot down. "The fact that the baby won't live _doesn't_ matter. If she's sleeping with him, it's time. A marriage can save her reputation."

"Ralph doesn't love Dora, Marilla. I'm sure of it." Gilbert didn't mean to raise his voice. "Ralph might have said he loved her at one time, but after what she told me tonight, he doesn't. I'm sure of it. Ralph rejected Dora completely. Marilla, he even called Dora a whore."

Mrs. Lynde involuntarily gasped which under-scored Marilla's shocked face. The lull seemed to stretch to eternity. Only the sound of the crackling fire broke the silence.

"Dora didn't tell me that." Marilla eyes softened as she looked over Gilbert's shoulder. "Rachel—did she tell you that?"

"No!" Rachel rose to bring Marilla a length of wool yarn. Marilla took it gratefully and secured her bundle of letters.

"Marilla, Ralph's a terrible person. I wouldn't wish any women to marry him. Men like him make us all look bad."

Mrs. Lynde nodded enthusiastically. "You can take all the men in the world, stuff them in a burlap sack, whack it with a stick, and hit the right man, every...single…time."

Gilbert jolted her direction, "Really?"

"Don't gawk at me, Gilbert." Mrs. Lynde shrugged before returning to her corner. "Even you've had your moments, you know so."

"Not like Ralph," Marilla defended her son-in-law. "I'm not ready to talk to Dora, but I will be soon."

Marilla stroked her bundle of correspondence.

"I was going to read these letters one last time and throw them in the fire, but I think Dora should look them over first. Maybe she'll stop seeing me as some stuffy, old spinster." Marilla released a teardrop from her right eye and her gray lashes fluttered a moment as she pressed the bundle into Gilbert's hands. "Tell her to burn them when she's done. I don't need to see them again. Tell her, 'the past is the past'."

"Alright" Gilbert unbuttoned his overcoat and slipped them into his hidden pocket. "I'll make sure she knows."

"Gilbert," Marilla called as he departed. "Only Dora gets to read them. And, let her know that I love her and that I'm sorry I failed her."

 **to be continued**


	34. Pregnant (Part 4)

Timeline - _Anne's House of Dreams._ Approximately two months into Anne and Gilbert's marriage. _  
_For a shorter narrative, I am combining events that occur in this book and introducing ideas and characters in a different order. Some characters I am not using at all. It is very helpful to know the events of this book still even if I elect to take liberties here and there

* * *

 **Chapter 34: Pregnant (Part 4)**

 _ _April 1876__

 _ _Alberta__

 _ _My Darling Marilla,__

 _ _I don't understand what has caused you to change your mind. After all, Matthew still needs help on the farm, and us Blythe boys will be good help for Green Gables. But just when Geri's agreed to the divorce, you say try again with her. Well, you know what I think of that.__

 _ _I want to try again with you.__

 _ _That was the plan if I survived, but I remain your obedient servant,__

 _ _J. Blythe__

 _ _P.S. Let me know when you change your mind. I love you.__

 *** / * / ***

That was the latest letter in the pile, a document penned when she and Davy were one-year-old, the end to over twenty-five years of on and off again correspondence between two people that loved each other.

Dora twirled the pink yarn, knowing she ought to secure the bundle and keep the letters safe together. She was a good steward and the items needed to be tucked into her traveling satchel. Instead she hesitated, paralyzed by the illuminating knowledge of the past. Marilla had loved John Blythe and he loved her. A wooed Marilla was hard for Dora to believe, but the evidence could not be disputed. Marilla had even made wedding plans to put into action. It was all right there in John's correspondence.

Dora lifted her eyes to review Gilbert, who sat dormant across from her. She saw him as he really was, perhaps for the very first time. He wasn't 'that boy' that married Anne anymore. Nor was he a powerful witch or a handsome doctor. Dora recognized him as the sad and scared boy in John's letters. Pieces of his past pinched his face. It was hard not to see the youthful black mop of curls and tear-heavy eyes shadowing his adult features. He was still the boy that needed to heal his father and wanted to see his mother. Two goals that at the time, eluded him.

And what about Marilla? Had she really suggested that they reintroduce Gilbert to her as "Aunt Marilla?" Marilla had made room in her heart for John's child too.

Once, when she and Davy were eight years old, she overheard Marilla tell Mrs. Lynde how much Gilbert looked like his father when John was his age. And now, almost eight years later, the tone of that innocuous comment echoed to the foreground of her thoughts. She had been too little to understand the sentimental currents evoked, but now she gleaned the tang of regret. Marilla still felt something for Mr. Blythe back then. Her John and his son. The family she might have had if she had stuck to the plan. This was why Gilbert had so much favor in Miss Cuthbert's eyes. Through Anne's love for Gilbert, her love for John lived on. It was almost like offspring.

Had Mr. Blythe and Marilla been lovers?

Dora's seized on the thought of prim and proper Marilla Cuthbert being potentially promiscuous, an eeriness that doubled seeing Gilbert motionless across from her. But the letters didn't mention any sort of rendezvous of that nature. Given Mr. Blythe's bold and non-scratchy pen, there would be a mention of such horizontal refreshment*. Maybe there were more letters, for all Dora read were the optimistic plans for a fresh start. A new family. Dora buzzed from the information, believing and not believing in equal measure.

It was like discovering a cousin you never knew you had and seeing your quirks in them. Blood bond you to others, removing your uniqueness while simultaneously creating a society of like minds. Strange how mindset is inherited along with physical features. Dora felt reassured that she wasn't so alone in her thinking. That her beating heart and desire for love matched that of her relative, her now guardian, forever and ever _Miss-by-choice_ Marilla Cuthbert.

She had shouted at Marilla that she didn't know what being in love was like. Marilla did know. Dora saw the error of her assumption plainly. Marilla had made mistakes in love, not once, but twice. And with the same man. Two fail engagements. At least Gilbert benefited from the latter. Somehow, Dora suspected that without Marilla's sacrifice, Gilbert's home would still be broken. Dora was glad for that. Gilbert deserved better than his parent's and Marilla's behavior.

The sway of the train soothed as a lullaby and a dark shadow passed their private compartment. It was only the conductor and his boxy hat, making himself known to the more rowdy passengers as he paced the aisle. The men up front were drunk and Gilbert had greased the conductor's hand when they boarded for the quiet accommodation. A bribe. Dora frowned, uneasy about the expense. Her ticket cost dear enough. But Gilbert waved his hand, excusing her objection, saying that he would feel better knowing she was sitting on a plush seat. He then mentioned something about bi-locating to see Anne.

* * *

Anne Blythe leaned back in her seat with one leg perched against an ottoman and nibbled on a rosy apple. She warmed in the red glow of the hearth and was surrounded by a handful of eclectic friends, Dr. Felder, Leslie Moore, and the unflappable Owen Ford.

Her hostess, Leslie Moore nee West, was a dire mixture of beauty and pain. Mrs. Moore sometimes wore her patience in a thin line around her lips, but on the whole, Anne enjoyed her company. Leslie was blessed with physical attractiveness, a model of female perfection juxtaposed against a life of torments. The Great Destroyer dogged her, raking in her beloved; a brother, a father and a mother. If that wasn't enough, fate then chipped away her own hopes and dreams. She found herself unhappily married at age sixteen. Her mother had sold her into a bad marriage. It had been to save the West farm and Leslie agreed to it as a duty.

Anne refrained from expressing her opinion about Leslie's mother when Leslie might hear. Leslie did what she did for the love of her mother and that loyalty shouldn't be disparaged even if Anne questioned it. But Gilbert had heard Anne complain more than once that no woman should be made to marry anyone. No matter how much the bride might want to please her parents and her would-be spouse, the era of arranged marriages should die with the 19th-century. On this point, Anne and Gilbert agreed. Forced marriages came to bad ends. It was a form of slavery.

And what a cruel master Mr. Moore had been! Anne hadn't observed this herself, the brain-injured version she knew had a different temperament than the man that married Leslie, but others testified Dick had been an absolute despot. Everyone assumed Leslie had been beaten by _that man_. The question was how severely? Anne hoped one day that Leslie would confide the information. Anne remembered how Mr. Hammond used to hit her. It wasn't the same thing, not exactly, but it was a start.

Leslie lived in an Earth-bound purgatory, taking care of her husband. Her iron chains were short and heavy. He was her dependent now, instead of her provider. Leslie had to lease her land out to a local farmer for income, and sometimes, she lodged visitors, like Mr. Selwyn's grandson, Owen. All Leslie had was the dwelling her marriage to Dick Moore secured.

Anne considered Leslie's impoverished life as Leslie moved about the parlor, her long blonde hair catching Anne's coveting eye. _How much tragedy can one person bear?_ Leslie might be able to give Minerva Tomgallon a run for her money when it came to bad luck. _Was Leslie's home cursed too?_ Anne wasn't sure and she meant to consult Helen and Katherine when they visited this winter.

"This is lovely," Anne complimented Leslie on the tea she offered and Leslie gave a small jolt of surprise before a broad smile split her face. Against the sound of clinking china cups, Anne again apologized after an obligatory sip. "I'm sorry to call so unexpectedly. Eugene was really curious to see Mr. Moore. He and Gilbert rely on each other as sounding boards and share cases and medical news. Eugene is so well connected with the leading research in the States and Mr. Moore has puzzled Gilbert since we first came here."

"Oh," Leslie's eyes bounced over to the small table where Dr. Felder and her husband played simple games. "Well, anything to keep Dick busy is fine with me. It's not often I have time to visit, much less serve. I do like taking out Grandmother's pink dishes for company."

"I promise to visit more often then. Sit!" Anne patted the spot next to her and Leslie finally reclined with her own beverage. She looked across the room, pass the small table where Dr. Felder and Mr. Moore played Parcheesi, to another man. She glanced away when she felt Anne's observing eye upon her.

Owen Ford tinkered away at the piano, badly. He received an unsolicited glare or eye-roll from Eugene, especially when a sour note was heard. Dick Moore thought the loud, uneven chords were great fun. Anne wasn't sure if they were deliberately creepy or not. But Mr. Moore's excitement grew as Mr. Ford attempted new pieces of music. Leslie soon abandoned her spot to help keep Mr. Moore calm. She took a position at the table next to her husband and aided his moves against Gene.

Eugene's manners improved with a pretty woman in front of him. He did not mind the assistance that Mr. Moore received from his wife. He continued his notation and asked more pointed questions.

After supper in Anne's home, Eugene had asked to be introduced to Dick Moore. He wanted to see for himself how the profoundly injured man functioned. So, Anne gathered a peck of Blythe apples from her pantry and made it a gift for Leslie. Gene had charmed Mrs. Moore into allowing him to examine Mr. Moore further and add to Dr. Blythe's assessment, promising her that he was good friends with the head of neurology at Johns Hopkins.

Eugene's insisting on the introduction was a bit of a concern for Anne. Naturally, Anne was aware of her husband's medical correspondence, but Anne wasn't sure to what end. Gilbert claimed medical intrigue, but it was more than that. Anne suspected Gilbert's interest in Dick's brain injury had more to do with his magical limitations. He needed science to heal brain trauma. Gilbert didn't look at Mr. Moore as a patient, but as a challenge, a quest for his ambition.

How could Anne mention her doubt when Leslie didn't seem to mind Dr. Felder's involvement for "theoretical purposes"? It was a conversation for another day. Today was going to be a day of joy. When Gilbert came home tonight she'd alight again with the wondrous news of their expecting child.

The bad piano playing stopped and the sheet music returned to the bench. Owen complimented Leslie on the excellent musical library she stored. She had songs ranging from Christmas music, European Operas, and more recently, the ballads of Summerside's sensation, V. Pringle.

Owen then crossed the parlor and joined Anne on the sofa. Normally, he was every bit as animated and expressive as Eugene, but there was something about Dr. Felder's presence in the house that caused Mr. Ford to grump. Perhaps it was the glorious laughter Gene coaxed out of Leslie with his corny jokes and clumsy posture.

Leaning into Anne to whisper, Owen asked. "Have you thought more about my offer?"

Anne winced. Any doubt she might have had dissolved the second she learned she was expecting. Soon, she wouldn't have time for writing pretty little stories for a Toronto publisher anyway. She had painfully explained to Owen that she was done, for the moment, with writing. She wanted to focus on being Mrs. Dr. Blythe.

Although to be fair, Gilbert wouldn't care if she had said yes, after all, he had encouraged her to take on Captain Jim's Life-Book by herself. But she had said "no" to that too. She didn't mind working with Owen as a second pair of eyes when Captain Jim wasn't looking. Owen needed a woman's perspective for the Lost Margaret parts.

"No," Anne apologetically shook her head. "It is a wonderful offer though and it flatters me to no end."

"Ah," Mr. Ford shrugged and cast his eyes away from Anne's slender face. "Well, you'll forgive me for trying. It's just that... we work so famously well together. Everything just clicks in our collaboration." He did not return his gaze back to Anne as he spoke. His gray eyes narrowed as he stared out the shore-facing window where a crescent moon hung high above the audible but unseeable waves. "We're always coming up with the same thoughts, there's never an argument about direction."

"You know," Anne squinted her own gray eyes as she turned her head to see what had caught Owen's attention, "I've noticed that too. I wonder why that is? Probably because we both love the same literature?"

"Sounds logical," Owen swallowed as he pointed out a series of flashing lights, now looking a bit spooked. "Do you see that? That's the second time it's happened in the last minute."

 _ _Flash. Flash. Flash. Flash. Flash.__

"Yes," Anne bit her lip, thinking of Diana. "Someone's on the shore, I think."

Leslie Moore pulled herself away from the card table where she had been helping Dick with kinging his red pieces against Dr. Felder. They were just starting a round of checkers. She peered out the window too.

"It's just reflected light from the lighthouse," Leslie informed them. She touched Owen's arm when moving around him and Owen straightened in response. "There's debris there, deep down under the sand. Your grandfather Owen, Mr. Selwyn, before he sold this parcel to the Wests, once had a small pier and storage barn in that very spot. Daddy tore it down and used a few of the boards to frame this house. But a lot of the wood was rotted and he left it there. When the water is choppy, like tonight, the ebb pushes old glass-shards to the surface. Then, the lighthouse light bounces off those reflective bits as it turns."

"In other words, don't walk over there without shoes." Dr. Felder piped in from afar.

"I should think not," Owen agreed, still overwhelmed by Leslie's proximity. "Too cold for that anyway."

Now Leslie colored. "Right, no walks tonight." She stepped back and Mr. Ford sighed.

Romantic tensions between Owen and Leslie aside, Anne was not convinced in the little story about reflected light. Anne had walked the edge of the beach a few times and never seen anything of this old pier John Selwyn once used, nor the barn. And, it was an odd location for a landing. Why anyone would build a pier there, so close to the sandbar, was beyond her.

"Those flashes aren't natural," Owen retorted to his landlady as they happened again. "Each time I see them, I count five. Mother once told me that her father said sailors used to make light blink to communicate across the distances to other boats. __Five__ flashes __mean__ _._ . ."

" _ _Come o'er as soon as possible__ _.**"_ Anne finished.

"Right. How did you know?"

"It's a game I made to communicate with my childhood friend from our bedroom windows." Anne reported, "Yet another example of why I feel like I know you better than I ought. Do you have some sort of power that clips memories from my head?"

Owen replaced the curtain as he turned dramatically her direction. "I think a better question is how does a little orphan girl from a city, know the ends and outs of an old sailor's code?"

"Sailor's code?" Anne sing-songed. "It was just something I invented, a necessity for solving a problem." Anne's straightened her spine as her natural defenses manifested. "Coincidences do happen."

"If you say..." Owen shrugged with his hands deep in his pockets. "We seem to have quite a few coincidences with our unexplained simpatico." Owen teased. "Do you suppose we should check out those flashes, make sure there's no one in trouble."

"I'll do it," Anne said with a hand stretched out to stop him from moving. "It's time for us to leave anyway before our fire dies out. I don't want Gil to come home to a cold house. Gene and I will check out the light as we go."

"It's nothing, I swear." Leslie repeated as she swung a sheet of blonde hair back. "But I'll fetch your coats."

* * *

Gilbert returned back to his dormant body, unsuccessful in his attempt to call Anne away from the Moore's home. Dora's eyes were steady on him and when she squinted, he gleaned her question.

"I'll have to try again, a bit later. Sorry." Gilbert rubbed his clammy hands against his cotton-wool blend trousers and sighed. He was close to over-extending himself and couldn't afford to do that with Dora's condition. "She and Eugene are visiting our neighbors. It was _five_ flashes, right?"

"Yes, that's right."

Dora looked to her lap where the bundle of papers sat tied up pretty in the pink yarn and mimicked Gilbert's sigh. She didn't need to see her escort's hazel eyes move to feel his judging appraisal. She cradled Marilla's documents protectively. The things she knew now. He could talk about his powers all he wanted. That was no longer impressive.

"Gilbert—you know what these letters are about, don't you?" Dora queried as the train rocked.

"I'm pretty sure I know the gist of them." Gilbert nodded. He had memories of helping his father compose a few of them, when is cough was bad. "Marilla said it's all in the past now."

"Do you really think so?"

"Yes," Gilbert's eyes lightened a bit. He was never quite comfortable talking about his boyhood, but he felt safe with Dora. "I know so. Marilla did something incredibly strong back then. The greatest love of all is the ability to walk away. You know First Corinthians, Chapter 13***?"

Dora indicated a "yes". She had learned the text a long time ago, but never understood the message. Marilla had lived the words as St. Paul had written.

"Maybe Anne forgot the code?" Gilbert changed the subject. "I'm pretty sure she saw them though. I did the flashes a few times to call her out of the house."

"Does Anne forget anything?" Dora pondered and they both chuckled. Anne sometimes claimed she forgot, but it was rarely true. If she made such a claim, it was an excuse.

"Right...what was I thinking askin' that?" Gilbert pinched sand from his eyes, exhausted to his core. He tried not to show his weariness further and finished his courtesy cup of water.

* * *

"Are we really going to wander over there and look?" Eugene asked with an uncertain edge.

He and Anne had ventured a few feet off the dirt path towards the ocean. Together they looked for the source of the mysterious flashes as the lighthouse passed its beam. There was no reflective glint to be seen coming out of the sandy shore.

"No, I think not." Anne stuffed her hands into her pockets before retreating back to the lane. "It had to have been Gil, calling for me. I would think."

"Good," Eugene stated and he followed Anne. "You know how prone I am to accidents. If there's debris over there, I'll find it for sure."

He held his hat in place as a gust of salty sea air whistled by. Anne shivered. She ceased walking as her skirts twisted. She had to bend forward and lift her hems to free her legs.

"Is it always so breezy here?" Eugene complained as he dropped a steering arm on Anne's back.

"Yes, it is!" Gilbert replied as he magically appeared. "It's not called Four Winds Harbor for nothing."

"Gil!" Anne almost shouted but found she couldn't as his arms swept her into his embrace. There was a quick kiss between the two of them before Gilbert set her down, his eyes lingering on her for a moment before they shared a knowing grin. He then pivoted and greeted his old roommate.

"Gene—it's great to see you too!" Gilbert smiled to his buddy and Eugene gave him a warning stance that said he was not to be hugged. One never knew with Gilbert. The two men shook hands instead.

"My visit couldn't have been timed better!" Dr. Felder felt his eyebrows arch into his now never-ending, hairless crown.

Gilbert splashed a questioning look on Anne and Anne responded with a 'forgive me' gesture.

"You told him?"

"Don't blame Anne," Eugene interrupted and reached for Anne's pocketed left hand. "If Mrs. Blythe will allow me?"

Gilbert groaned as Gene showed Gilbert Anne's finger. Gene knew his powers as well as Anne did, in someways, maybe even better. It was Eugene that had tried to assist him in mastering his abilities.

"Stitches?" Eugene chuckled at this. "It took me a few minutes to figure out why you would give your beautiful spouse stitches instead of just healing her, but really, short of a total burn out, which..." Eugene grinned at his pun and tried for it again. "The witch was needed at Green Gables, so you weren't burned out. Well, once I understood that, only one reason seemed possible. Congratulations, Daddy."

"Gil—I'm sorry, I didn't know what to say." Anne leaned into his side and pulled a kiss off his lips. "Forgive me?"

"The two of you are going to be marvelous parents."

It was still wonderful news. Gilbert hadn't allowed himself any more happy reverie since he left Green Gables with Dora. Dora's situation made him reel in his glee. But Eugene knowing, that made his joy bubble forward.

"Well..." Gilbert took a tone of feigned indignation. "I will overlook it, if you can do the same for me. I need to..."

"Oh Gil!" Anne's mouth dropped. "You didn't!"

"Mrs. Lynde figured it out." Gilbert announced with a grimace. "I wasn't exactly coming home with bad news shadowing me. Speaking of news, I need to tell you..."

"You were strutting like a peacock, weren't you?" Eugene volunteered and Anne snorted on her laughter. "You can't fault Gilbert on this, Anne, you sent a babe to the lions there."

"So, everyone knows?"

"Mrs. Lynde, Marilla, Davy and Dora." Gilbert batted his eyes a bit. "We should tell my folks too, to be fair about it. I am sorry, but as it turns out, our news isn't the most pressing matter."

"Oh God, don't tell me," Anne said with renewed worry. "Dora had rabies!"

"Oh dear! No wonder you went straight away."

"No...no," Gilbert stood and gestured for Anne and Gene to come closer to him. "Dora is also. . . You see, Anne, we're not the only ones. Dora and Ralph, they… well, they, uh."

The entire universe stilled to fill in Gilbert's ellipse. Anne put her hand into Gilbert's to keep her balance as the implications shook through her body.

"Miss Keith is with child?" Eugene finally broke the silence. Anne audibly sniffed and Gilbert only nodded his head to confirm. "It's really not so shocking, not in my line of work. It is always _troubling_ to see, very young women expecting, but not, _that_ uncommon. The sexual drive. . ."

Gilbert gave Gene a 'be quiet' stare and Eugene swallowed whatever thought he was going to next express.

"Anne—I was prevented in coming sooner. I wanted to discuss this, but had to act before we could talk. Dora is coming back with me so I can keep an eye out for her. You see, her baby..." Gilbert gave a firm shake of his head and furrowed his brow with concern. "Her pregnancy is ectopic. And I can't do anything until..."

"Oh that poor girl." Dr. Felder's horrifying whisper caused goose-flesh to erupt over Anne's arms.

"What do you mean?" Anne asked as Gilbert's specter began to fade.

"Go Gil," Eugene excused Gilbert's mean apparition. "I'll explain it to Anne. Save your strength for Miss Keith."

Gilbert left the pair in a mist. Eugene leveled his blue eyes on Anne and told her frankly. "Dora's pregnancy is a dangerous one, a blockage. But don't worry. You know I'm not a religious man, but I think Mrs. Lynde would declare things are Providential."

Anne's eyes glanced around the path for something less earnest to regard. She knew this, she had studied Latin the same as Gilbert and Eugene, _ecto_ or _out of place_.

"The baby will outgrow its location and when it does, Dora will need Gil to stop the bleeding and heal her, and then, if the case demands it, a doctor like me."

Eugene silently thanked all the female cadavers that had allowed him to develop the surgical technique to remove the ovary and scarred tubing and leave the womb and other ovary in place. Most surgeons did a full removal of the female reproductive organs. Eugene's technique allowed the woman to continue to have babies and allowed for a more natural transition to barrenness.

"I would say that Providence wants her to survive this." Eugene smiled, "With banners and bells too! She's a very lucky girl, really."

"Survive?" Anne almost lost her balance. "You mean to say that Dora's life is in danger."

"Most blockages are killers." Eugene offered his steadying hand. "Which is why Dora's proximity to a supernatural healer and me is particularly curious."

* * *

Dear Diary,

I need to jot this down so I can laugh at it properly later in life, I don't dare laugh too hard now. I was serving breakfast to Gil, Dora and Gene when all of a sudden Dora stood up, ran to the sink and got sick. And then, I had to join her at the sink with my own rush of nausea.

Then Gil all of a sudden raced to the sink and vomited spectacularly next to me. All three of us were quite the chorus. You'd think we were epicureans making room for the next course-but no!

Gene was laughing, and stole our bacon off our abandoned plates, while we were heaving, saying it is normal for mothers and fathers to have morning sickness. Gilbert is so very embarrassed about it all. He refuses to believe that he reacted in sympathy for me.

Time will tell,

Cordelia

* * *

Dora Keith and Anne Shirley sat at the kitchen table as Eugene heated a half cup of milk. He prescribed both of them a small amount of warmed milk and he was making sure they drank it. Milk had nutrients perfect for pregnant women and their incubating babies.

"I didn't know you were so handy at a stove." Anne praised. She was trying her best to avoid the drink as it wasn't to her liking. She then wondered if Gilbert had left any cookies in the jar to cut its taste.

"I have a hard time keeping a housekeeper under my employment," Eugene admitted with a shoulder shrug. He looked foppish in Anne's big, yellow and ruffly apron. He divided the liquid in half, expertly pouring the white froth into teacups with steady hands. "I've picked up a few tricks. Necessity is the mother of invention."

Dora watched him set the milk coated pan back onto the warm range instead of placing it in the sink for washing. She and Anne's eyes met and they both silently fretted for the pan that hadn't been put away properly. Marilla had trained them well.

"Alright Ladies!" Eugene placed the beverage before them. "Drink up."

Dora stared back with a bit of annoyance. Warm milk was a child's drink given to tots to promote sleep. She was almost sixteen.

"Gilbert said that I'm going to lose my baby." Dora pointed out as she sniffed the husky aroma.

Eugene agreed. "So he did." Then compassionately added, "But, that hasn't happened yet, has it? Pregnant women deserve some pampering. I am humbled to perform this small task to the betterment of your health."

Dora blinked and fought a blush. Eugene didn't seem to notice her demure reaction and used the beat to remove the apron and return it to the peg. Anne chuckled as Dora sipped. Dora obviously wasn't used to this type of attention, kindness for kindness' sake alone. From what Gilbert had whispered in her ear in bed last night, Ralph had been fairly mean.

"Gene, why do you have trouble keeping housekeepers?" Anne asked as he took a seat at the table next to Dora and across from Anne.

"Oh, no you don't," Eugene shook a finger at Anne as Dora provided a musical chuckle to his gesture, "You're trying to distract me with conversation. Take a sip and I'll tell you."

Anne looked at the offwhite liquid before bringing it to her lips. She tried to swallow it without tasting. The cow was going dry, which added a bitter note.

"There now!" Eugene approved at Anne's effort. "I can't keep a housekeeper because of my profession. I study the female reproductive system. Respectable servants find my desk disturbing, and I suppose they have a point. I forget to put away the pictures and sketches. What housekeeper worth her weight in salt isn't going to wonder if I'm some sort of unhinged eccentric. Baltimore is a prosperous city. I'm not the only employer out there. So they don't stay."

Dora had finished her cup and left it in front of her. "That's silly. Don't they understand you're trying to save lives? Women and their babies?" Dora noticed that she had slid a hand down to caress the spot where her doomed child lived. It was his home, the only one he'd ever know. What Dr. Felder wanted to do was courageous in her eyes.

Eugene seemed astonished by Dora's assessment and shook his head 'no.'

He felt sorry he had no way to stop Mother Nature on Dora and her child's behalf. Her case sounded textbook and he instinctively knew that he could offer her some guidance for the future. She was an adult but still very young. Swooping in on her with all his thoughts and opinions unbidden probably would overwhelm and frighten her. So he said nothing more on the topic of his work.

"I have yet to meet one. Even Ella Hammond was apprehensive." Eugene answered. He glanced to Dora's empty cup pleased that she had done as he had asked, even if it might be superfluous. He then compared it to Anne's.

"Look at your sister Anne, she's done with her milk." Eugene pointed out.

"Might I inquire on what happened with Ella Hammond?" Anne asked.

Dora spoke quickly. "Not _the_ Hammond's?"

"Yes, same family," Anne acknowledged the question pleased that Dora was good enough to ask. Her way was to sit quietly and not engage in conversation. She had to be very invested in the topic to pipe up. "I thought for a moment that it might be more going on, Gene."

Eugene rolled his eyes. "Just because a young lady becomes my housekeeper, doesn't mean there's more to it. Besides, Ella is hardly my type. She has no backbone."

Anne finished the remaining milk in her teacup and pushed it towards Gene. "I'm all ears."

"There's not much to say. At the time, I thought I was killing two birds with one stone. I wanted to help her get away from that heartless suitor of hers and I needed help with my household. So, I asked her to come and she did. It was a trying three months and eventually, she left. Probably went back to Marcus thinking she didn't deserve better."

"Marcus hurt her?" Anne asked just as Dora was about to ask the same question.

"He toyed with her emotions which might be as bad or worse. A bruise you can see and treat, but damaged esteem takes longer to heal, if at all." Eugene answered. "I failed Ella, I think. Of course, I respected her decision to leave. I just hoped that I gave her enough respite she might believe she deserved better than a two-timer for a spouse. A few men are like that, but it's not the norm. I hoped her staying with me as my housekeeper would prove it."

Dora shifted in her chair and Anne thought she knew why. Dora's beau had been like Ella's. Ralph had grown into a cruel man.

* * *

Dear Marilla,

I hope your headache is better. I was really sorry to hear you were feeling poorly when Rachel called to ask about Dora. I know it takes you a couple of days to get your feet back under you, but I wanted to send word as I promised. I know who shares your party line with you and I would not elaborate over it.

Yes, I was a little bit surprised when Gilbert bi-located to me to tell me Dora was coming home with him, but once he explained his reason, it made sense and we are happy to help. Dora is welcomed to stay with us as long as she wants, but I agree with Gil that she needs to rest, physically and mentally.

It happened today. Dora called for me around tea-time. She was in such terrible pain, from her lower back it radiated to her shoulders. The poor thing, she tries so hard not to be a bother to us, but she really needed help. She noticed blood earlier that morning and didn't tell us. I don't know what she was thinking, Gil could have assisted her then when the pain was more manageable.

Gilbert was on a call in the village, an elderly man, Mr. Morgan had taken ill. But he gave me the number just in case, and boy, I was glad I had it. Gilbert was back at the house in no time. He asked me to help him like I sometimes do.

Well, Dora will be fine, but I think she misses you.

Love to you always,

Your Anne

 **to be continued**

* * *

*19th Century slang for sex.  
**Anne of Green Gables, Chapter 19: A Concert, A Catastrophe and a Confession  
***1 Cor 13:4-8. NIV translation

 _Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes always perseveres._

It's a commonly quoted passage and believable that Gilbert and Dora would know the text well enough to reference it without direct quotation. I chose the NIV translation for you reader as it uses the word "love" over the word "charity". On the whole, I am not a fan of the NIV version. Normally, in the context of this story, I reference the King James Version and not a 20th century translation.


	35. Pregnant (Part 5)

Timeline - _Anne's House of Dreams._ Approximately two months into Anne and Gilbert's marriage.

For a shorter narrative, I am combining events that occur in this book and introducing ideas and characters in a different order. Some characters I am not using at all. It is very helpful to know the events of this book even if I elect to take liberties.

* * *

 **Chapter 35: Pregnant (Part 5)**

Dr. Eugene Felder bid Miss Rebecca Dew and the Windy Poplar ladies a good-night and carried the provided bed warmer into his tower room. It was the same room that had once housed Anne Blythe when she was still Principal Anne Shirley. Eugene armed himself with her recommendation when he approached the Pringle-neutral widows for temporary lodgings. His late wife had been a daughter of the influential Pringle clan, a clan dead-set on denying him what should be his inheritance. He had entered into his marriage to Victoria Pringle as something of a curious prize, but now, his favor had worn. His inlaws wished to retain the royalty rights to his late wife's compositions, instead, offering the piano where she had learned to play.

Gene slid the warming implement between the covers and took to his desk. He was behind on his correspondence which was unlike him. Pushing aside his solicitor's invoicing and a stern letter from Johns Hopkins regarding his extended absence, he finally decided that he would write Miss Keith.

The night before, Gilbert used his powers of bi-location to inform him Dora's crisis was over. Gene quizzed Gil about what else he noticed during her healing. Did Dora need a surgical therapy? Would Dora be able to conceive without worry of another ectopic pregnancy? Gilbert said he wanted to discuss the matter with Marilla first, but the concern was real.

It took a while for Dr. Felder to unpack the comment. Gilbert's style of medicine would be to involve Miss Cuthbert in any decision that had to be made. A parent makes decisions for a child, but did such a label really fit Miss Keith?

The worry knifed a vertical line between Gene's eyes. Yes, Miss Keith was young, but she was also an adult woman in her childbearing years. No one should be making decisions for her unless she was incapacitated from the emotional strain. If anything he had learned about Dora's character, it was that she was level-headed. There was no need to defer to Marilla. Dora Keith was more level-headed than he was, and he was twenty years her senior.

It was a careful letter he penned and even in a third reading, he was undecided if it should ever be delivered.

 _Mid-November_

 _Dear Miss Keith,_

 _Before I write anything else, I want you to know that I am overwhelmed in sorrow for your loss. It is a horrible and tragic event you have endured, magical healing or not, and I do not take it lightly. You have lost a baby and have suffered much pain. It is my fundamental wish to express some compassion. You know I am a widower, but I have lost a child too. There are few things that pain me more than mourning my lost girls. Losing a child... there are no words to express the depravity._

 _As far as the rest of this letter, I'm not even sure I should be writing this, but I can be a rogue at times, so I'll worry about consequences later. I've dropped plenty of clues to Gilbert that I should like your case deferred to me, but that requires your permission. He holds back in mentioning this to you because he believes it's Miss Cuthbert's decision. I would disagree with that. You are the proprietor of your body and should decide on your health care._

 _So, with that in mind, I'm going to ask you if I might be your doctor, because your journey is not over, and I desire to help you avoid this from happening again. Sure, Gilbert helped in the pinch, but I can get you out of tight quarters permanently. That is if you let me._

 _There is a reason why your baby implanted in the wrong part of your body. The reason is due to scar material in your Fallopian tubes. The scar material blocked the path of your fertilized egg. If this is true, and from what Gil shares, I suspect it is, you may wish to elect a surgical treatment so it doesn't re-occur in your future. The other option would be to avoid pregnancy by less reliable means._

 _The standard surgical treatment is to remove the entire reproductive system. You wouldn't have to worry about pregnancy ever again. But, rest assured, I have an alternative technique that is less invasive but brand new to the medical community. It is untested by time and might be dismissed as an option._

 _Miss Keith, I think you're suited for this alternative method. You are young and otherwise healthy. And I believe you should have an opportunity to have offspring. If you are willing to trust me, I can elaborate further my idea._

 _Finally, I want you to know that I struggled to write this letter. It is very unprofessional of me to go around a colleague, much less a friend. Gilbert is an excellent family doctor, but he'll bring information to you with your guardian's parental skew._

 _I do feel better disclosing the information that there is an alternative to the standard treatment, should you find yourself under another doctor's care, they might not be current on the latest research or elect not to share it._

 _Knowledge is power, and I want all women to receive their mountain's share. So, with that thought guiding me, I implore you to let me help you ascend._

 _Cordially,_

 _Dr. Eugene Felder_

 _Gynecological Research and Associate Professor in Obstetrics, Johns Hopkins University_

* * *

" Hmm," Anne murmured as she cuddled against Gilbert's bare side. She didn't recall hearing the telephone blare but she knew what had woken her and braced for that awful noise again.

"Gotta get that," Gilbert muttered against the ring.

 _Of course you do._

She sank into Gilbert's abandoned covers, dousing herself in his scent as he stepped into the cold November air.

This was her nightlife and there was never a full night of uninterrupted sleep. Anne frequently went to bed alone, only to wake when Gilbert dedicated his body to the mattress. He always tried to slip in without disturbing her. She couldn't help but stir. On the off chance they did go to bed together, they were interrupted later, sometimes in intimate moments, for a medical call. Gilbert tried to make light of it and declared the ringer was the 'sound of money'. Anne despised the telephone nonetheless.

Anne laid still and listened as Gilbert dressed. The friction of tied fabric meant he had found his robe and wrapped it tightly. She squirmed as she felt the tickle of his nose against her ear. His token apology made her smile as she pushed his face away.

Such were the downfalls of being married to a country doctor. She had signed up for the interruptions but their company had not. Anne hated the fact the telephone also woke Dora. Her room was directly over Gilbert's office.

The telephone blared again and suddenly stopped in mid-ring. Anne knew that Gilbert would talk a few minutes before coming back to the room. He'd either go back to sleep or he'd dress by moonlight. Anne stirred a bit more awake as his footsteps passed their door and continued on to her sewing room where Dora slept. She heard a small rap.

His husky baritone announced, "Dora, you have a call. It's Davy."

A few minutes later, the three of them were gathered in Gilbert's office. Gilbert sat in a swivel chair and Anne chose to sit on his lap, seeing no other place where she might rest. Dora stood before the wall phone, showing a bit of trepidation as she reached for the receiver. Her fingers fanned the air before she took the earpiece.

"Hello Davy," Dora's even voice did not match her posture. Her carriage alone reflected that she might be depressed. Anne watched her reaction. Dora's face flushed with forgotten color as Davy spoke.

"I see," Dora responded with an enthusiastic nod. "Davy, I'm recovering now, and. . . "

She had to wait for a turn.

"I miss you too. I really do! But, Davy… give me a moment. I just need a second."

Dora set the earpiece down and looked over at Anne and Gilbert for support. Anne smiled back as Gilbert set his chin on Anne's shoulder. They were both attentive to the imploring face she wore.

"Marilla wants to talk to me," Dora whispered.

Her gaze then dropped to her feet. Dora was nervous to see Marilla again.

"Davy snuck her into his work so they can make a _private_ call. He could lose his job."

"It will be fine, Dora," Anne whispered back. "Davy's there. She's not going to say anything horrible."

"We're right here with you, so you're not alone," Gilbert added, but he glanced to the hallway with a questioning expression. "Unless you want privacy. Whatever you need, just tell us."

Dora shook her head to that. "Will you listen too?"

Anne and Gilbert both leaned in as close as they could. With them cocooning her, she reclaimed the earpiece and tried to talk. She felt a seal of saliva break, causing her to smack.

"Marilla?"

"Yes, Child. I'm. . . I'm here. I . . ." Marilla's voice trailed a bit. The connection wasn't perfect, yet somehow Marilla's sincerity conquered the staticy line. "Are you alright, Dora?"

Dora shook her head 'no' but mumbled a feeble 'yes'.

"Dora, I want you to know that I'm very sorry," Marilla spoke over a crackle that may or may not have been emotionally laced. "I'm sorry I got angry when you needed me, and I'm so sorry that you've had to go through this terrible event. I cry when I think about it. You could have died, and what would I do without you? Please forgive me."

"I do, Marilla. . . and, I'm alright," Dora answered, but Marilla couldn't see her and know that it was a comforting lie. Marilla would never believe her if she could. "I.. I lost my son, but I'm alright. And, Gilbert says I am as I was before this all happened."

"I want to see you. I'd like to come tomorrow, but there was a kerfuffle with my train ticket, and I'm coming Monday. Can I bring you anything from home?"

Dora took a deep breath as her hand traced the oak panel the telephone hung from.

"Yes, I want my black dress," Dora stated. "I want to mourn my son. You see, Anne and Gilbert offered to host a service for my baby."

"At church?"

"No, it's not a church service. They're going to have a deacon come here." Dora gripped the cord. "I want Ralph and his family to know they're invited too."

Anne had tried to talk her out of _that_ idea, but Dora had insisted that her son's father was entitled. It was only fair.

"It will help me to know they were invited, although, I don't expect them to show."

Dora had to wait a long time for Marilla to respond.

"I admire you for wanting to include the Andrews, but Dora, don't set yourself up for more pain. You've had more than your share."

"Marilla, I'm just trying to do what's right." Dora's confidence awoke. "I must, even if it's hard. I think you agree with me."

"I'll see that Mrs. Harmon has your invitation." Marilla quaked. "Davy says it's time to go. He's breaking company policy so we can talk privately. Dora, I love you."

"Bye," Dora replied, but she didn't hang up. Instead, she berated herself for not saying "I love you" back. Now that Dora knew how deeply Marilla could love, her offering meant all the more.

"Dora?" It was Davy. "I want to say Happy Birthday, even though it's two weeks off. I'll see you at Christmas, alright?"

"Happy Sixteen." Dora mused, "It will be the first birthday we're apart."

"I know, but I'll be thinking of you. Can't help it."

"I know what you mean," Dora said in a way that suggested so much more. It hinted to the unavoidable future where they would have lives separate from each other. "Davy, I love you, even though you mostly drive me crazy."

It was a quiet chuckle Davy returned. "I love you too Sis. Good-night."

* * *

When Monday morning came it arrived with fog so ominous Gilbert entertained the thought of skipping the medical convention at Queens. The moment he stepped outside the air billowed around him and a foreboding dread crept up his spine. He ignored his trepidation and attended to his livestock thinking over his day's agenda and Marilla's coming to visit that night.

Dr. Eugene Felder was presenting his research as a special guest speaker from Johns Hopkins. And, as his sponsor, Gilbert was tasked to introduce him to his association's professional event the first day of it.

He realized he had to show up for his friend, no matter how intimidating the fog looked. Gene needed to network. His research budget was in danger of being cut. So he resolved to drum up international interest for his project by any means possible, even if it meant begging the conference chairman to let him speak.

He didn't say it outright, but it sounded as if his job was on the line. Although Gilbert was sure Gene would bounce back into a new career quickly, it would be a huge blow to Gene's ego to discontinue his life's work in medicine.

Gil promised he would help and he had meant it. So, while he mucked the stall Gilbert made a mental checklist of the people he wanted Gene to meet. Dr. Spencer was the most prominent. He was the senior physician in Charlottetown, having bought out Dr. Crabb's practice. It was Dr. Spencer's influence that had secured their venue. Gilbert knew that Gene wasn't a fan of the man, but Dr. Spencer knew how to circulate information. If Gene really wanted to make an impact for change in the field of obstetrics on Prince Edward Island and Canada beyond, Dr. Spencer was the man to chum up to first.

Gilbert worried about this as he fed his team and the cattle grew restless for their turn. He strode to where the cows waited. The roan heifer swatted her tail as Gilbert filled troughs. Her soft brown eyes watered and she looked interested in her food but wouldn't eat. The cow chewed her cud with one eye on her daughter and the other eye on her master.

Gilbert recognized a motherly worry.

"What's wrong, Alice?" Gilbert patted the roan's flank through a gap in the fencing. The animal mooed but more from the surprise of feeling his hand. He apologized as he used his powers.

"Yeah, I know, my hand is warm. Might feel nice on a cold morning like this."

"Mooo…." The animal said again as her tail flicked back and forth.

"I'm almost done," Gilbert hushed.

Healing animals always meant spending the rest of the day out of sorts. He could do it, but his powers moved and cooperated better with people. It was like an out-of-tune piano. The musician could still make music but their performance was better with a properly tuned instrument.

Gilbert drew back his hand when he felt Alice's problem give way. She looked at him in surprise and then took a step closer to her food. Soon, she was eating with the same ease as her mother.

Not for the first time, Gilbert wished he could talk to animals like Davy's Miss Marin could.

"Here's the deal. . ." Gilbert leaned on the rail a moment, imploring the heifer as her mouth gobbled hay. "You can't tell anyone I'm a witch. As I understand, barn gossip can get pretty bad. So, mum's the word."

From behind, his horse whinnied theatrically as if saying, "We all know, you big oaf."

Gilbert popped an eyebrow as he faced his syrupy brown stallion. Vermont was an energetic horse and fast. He was done with his food and now wanted a treat.

"Well—perhaps I _should_ give up healing people and help animals instead. I understood you perfectly, Monty-boy."

Gilbert reached into a burlap sack hanging near the tact and retrieved a carrot.

"You don't have to gulp it down, Monty. You're not a pig." Gilbert mused, "I wish I had a pig though. A sow like Henrietta would set you guys straight."

But the animals were not listening anymore. Gilbert closed the barn doors and entered a patch of sunlight. The clinging clouds were fading away.

* * *

"Gil, did you get lost?" Anne inquired as Gilbert re-entered his home. He toed off his muddy shoes at the door and made his way to the kitchen sink. "I was worried, it's as thick as pea soup out there."

"Alice wasn't feeling good, so I healed her," Gilbert explained as he stood before the water pump. He doused his hands and scrubbed his skin with the last sliver of store soap.

"You can do that?" Anne quizzed. She was busy cooking as Dora set the breakfast table.

Gilbert only nodded that yes, he could, not taking care to explain that it jarred him a bit to do so.

"The fog is breaking up actually, but the air did have the texture of sheep's wool." As he shook his hands dry, he bleated. "Baaaah…." and hummed the old song, _Bah, bah, black sheep_. He had a renewed interest in nursery rhymes.

"Dora, take the eggs to the table for me, please." Anne's shaky voice stopped his music and he reached for the towel as he watched Anne turn pale.

"Anne, are you alright?" Dora asked. There was a harshness in her question. "You look like you're going to faint."

"Gil. . . " Anne called for her spouse.

Dora let the pan fall to the floor as she held Anne upright. Gilbert rushed over and took Anne's weight as Dora moved a chair out from the table. Gently, Gilbert helped Anne sit. She bent forward and positioned her head between her knees to stop the spin. Anne was experiencing mild vertigo, but he hadn't seen it happen until now.

"Anne?"

He took Anne's pulse. Her hand was clammy, but her heartbeat was steady, if quieter than his own.

"Gil, I turned my head too quickly, that's all," Anne answered as she recovered her posture. She lowered her voice and peeled his fingers from a firm spot below her navel. "We're alright now."

Gilbert's fingers lingered in her hand as he considered all that he had learned about pregnancy. Anne's bouts of nausea were more inconvenient than alarming. This dizzy spell, however, was troublesome. It happened so quickly.

He stared into gray eyes framed under ruddy arches and noticed a dullness zapping her energy. It then zapped his energy too. He couldn't stop wondering if this spell meant the child she carried was going to be a witch.

He didn't want to suggest it. It was still too soon to tell, but he knew his supposition would nag him all day. Of course, he wanted to have one child that understood what it meant to have supernatural powers, but raising an infant witch was no small task. They were so strong and so inexperienced in their powers. Only now could he really appreciate the struggle his non-magical parents had with him, especially his mother. It was a daunting prospect, if not unwelcome.

Gilbert genuflected before Anne as Dora picked the pan off the floor and salvaged what she could of their breakfast. She added some wood to the stove and cracked a few more eggs to replace what had been spoiled by dust.

"Gil, stop fussing over me, it's just a dizzy spell. I've got so much to do before Marilla arrives." Anne thought ahead to the chicken she wished to bake for supper. "Tell me, do you think one hen will be enough for supper and sandwiches the next day?"

Gilbert put the back of his hand on her forehead to assess her still flushed face.

"I think so. Your regular poultry pleasure?"

Anne squirmed against Gilbert's clunky alliteration and Gilbert grinned to see her back rise. She was feeling a bit better if her humor had returned.

Dora perked up from the cook-stove. "I can butcher another chicken if you like. You have so many. It will give me something to do after I wash the dishes."

Gilbert sometimes bartered for payment with the residents in the fishing villages. That's how he secured labor for their garden and the trimming of the Lombardy trees. Their coop was full and another bird would have to be slaughtered before going over harbor again.

"Oh," Anne smiled, she rather hated the mean task of killing and plucking fowl, especially since the sight of blood might do her in in her state. "That would be nice Dora. Thank you!" Anne gave Gilbert a tidy nod of approval. "There's that solved."

"Anne—I don't have to go. Gene is more than capable of handling his affairs."

"Your ticket cost a lot, Gil. Go. Dora's here, I'll be fine. And, you can't stop your life because your wife is expecting. It's sweet that you want to, but we have to make a living."

Gilbert agreed to this new argument Anne supplied. As much as he enjoyed doting on her, he had responsibilities as a doctor. That meant occasional trips to grow his practice. Plus, Anne wouldn't tolerate being treated like an invalid, he had to pick his moments when it came to nurturing her and this wasn't the right time.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out his admission ticket. "Old Man and I do have an appointment to keep. Sure you don't want to come too, hang out in MacNeil Hall like old times?"

"We never hung out together at Queens," Anne laughed at the suggestion. "We really should go back someday. Winner of the Gold. Winner of the Avery." She snatched the ticket and stared at the stamped letters that would admit him into the event.

"Breakfast is ready," Dora announced as she sat down before a plate.

Gilbert pushed Anne up to her spot at the table and then took his place. His attention never left Anne as they consumed sausages and eggs. Anne handed the ticket over to Dora as she indicated an interest in the thin admission slip.

"What's trepanning?" Dora asked after reading one of the event topics printed in the middle of the document.

"An ancient form of brain surgery, still used." Gilbert tapped his noggin. "The surgeon bores holes into the cranium to release trapped blood and other fluids. The pictures should be glorious!" Gilbert added when Anne made a face. He then lifted a forkful of scrambled eggs and popped it into his mouth. "I know it sounds barbaric but the surgery helps a lot of patients recover lost memories and abilities."

"Sounds like magic," Dora suggested.

It might have been a joke from someone else, but Dora was generally too serious for her own good.

Anne tilted her head in the direction of the Moore's. She knew why Gilbert wanted to attend that lecture.

"In the case of the brain, you can be sure it's not magic." Gilbert stood firm on that point. "I have a patient that might benefit from such a treatment."

"Gil, you have limits for a reason." Anne reminded him, "You must accept that you can't always fix something, even with that fabulous education you have. I wished you'd tell me what you and Gene are up to."

Gilbert huffed. He really didn't know what he was thinking with regards to Mr. Moore, but gathering information wouldn't hurt for now. Once they had a bigger picture, he'd share his ideas with Anne.

"How is Dr. Felder?" Dora reached across her plate for her water glass and knocked a fork to the floor.

"Ask him yourself," Gilbert suggested, not picking up on Dora's nervous edge. "He's coming this weekend once the conference adjourns. I wonder what he'll think of Queens?"

Dora placed her fork back on the table and stated, "Ralph is at Queens."

"Is he?" Gilbert returned. He knew perfectly well that Mr. Andrews was a student at the higher learning institute.

"His boarding house is across from campus," Dora informed him. "MacDougal's* is the place. It smells like gingerbread. If I write a note, will you give it to him? Or perhaps leave it there with his landlady?"

Gilbert knew what the note would say. Dora wanted to invite Ralph to their child's memorial service. It was a horrible errand, unnecessary in his opinion as well. Ralph had his chance to support her, instead, he chose to treat Dora like a piece of trash.

"Dora, Ralph's not worth it. He'll never be worth the consideration you give him." Gilbert inhaled so that his chest noticeably rose, but when he exhaled, he did so decisively. "But I'll do it if that's what you really want."

Dora looked as if she wanted to say something but then thought the better of it.

"Darling, use my nice stationery and fountain pen. It's upstairs in my vanity, bottom drawer on the left."

"Thank you, both." Dora left them alone for a moment.

"Gil, don't let that note stay with Ralph." Anne reached for her tea. "Think of the people he might show it to and the gossip it would fuel."

"Well, if his mother knows," Gilbert tried to reason to no avail. "The way he treated Dora is terrible, I'm worried I'll strike him."

"That would be a very bad idea, Gil. Why don't you take Gene with you? He's an outsider to all this and his presence might be a good influence. And you have to admit, he's got a way with people."

"You really think I would?" Gilbert leaned back into the lumbar of his chair, arms crossed. Ralph did make him angry, but he always managed to control his temper.

"I was his teacher once. Even as a little boy he had this strange ability to make you do things you'd think you never would." Anne hushed as she heard Dora's footsteps from the stairs. "He got Dora to sleep with him. He could get you to raise your fist."

"Alright..." Gilbert spoke into his chest. "I'll twist Gene's arm and make him come too."

 **to be continued**

* * *

*Character is the creation of **elizasky** , used with permission, first appearing in _Glen Notes_. (More Agatha MacDougal in the next update).

 _To the anonymous reviewer that posted on Dec 2, 2018, please know how sorry I am that you have suffered an ectopic pregnancy! Although I make up everything medical, ectopic pregnancy is a real condition and it's still dangerous and 'scary'. There hasn't been enough progress from the late 19th century to our times and lives are still lost. I am thankful you received medical care and had the support of your husband, but the price of it all is heartbreaking._


	36. Pregnant (Part 6)

Timeline - _Anne's House of Dreams._ Approximately two to three months into Anne and Gilbert's marriage.

For a shorter narrative, I am combining events that occur in this book and introducing ideas and characters in a different order. Some characters I am not using at all. It is very helpful to know the events of this book even if I elect to take liberties.

* * *

 **Chapter 36: Pregnant (Part 6)**

Dr. Blythe waited patiently in the vestibule of MacNeil Auditorium as Dr. Felder stored his oversized diagrams for tomorrow's round of lectures. Gene was very excited, having impressed his audience. A ruckus of questions and conversations developed during the final moments of his hour, such that the conference committee scheduled Dr. Felder additional time to address some of the particulars, and his lecture adjourned to the morn.

Gene sauntered toward the exit with a smug look on his face and Gilbert was pleased for his buddy.

"Glad it went well," Gilbert dropped a hand on Gene's shoulder as they stepped into the winter chill. The pair hunched forward as they left Queens campus. "I knew you'd be a hit."

Dr. Felder shrugged against the compliment. He was a long way from achieving his goals. There was the matter of utility. His innovations might be without purpose. What he really needed to do was speak to women and sell the advantages of the annual exam.

"You know, Drs. Fahey and Fahey had a point," Dr. Felder repeated the hypothetical they presented. He was testing it aloud to be sure he understood. "All the research in the world won't help if patients refuse to be examined."

Gilbert felt his eyes reach up, but he stopped his eye roll. Pelvic exams were invasive. It was difficult to convince many women to allow them for preventive reasons. Most refused them on grounds of immodesty.

Gilbert chuckled to himself, seeing error in his generalization. There were some women that didn't mind as much. They were older women, mostly widows. They claimed to suffer hysteria caused by wandering womb disease. He approached their requests carefully, taking his time to diagnose them with his powers, and he never found evidence to any truth to their claims. He would rediagnose them as necessary, and if they insisted on treatment, he would then advised them to perform the massage to themselves. There was even debate among certified gynecologists about the effectiveness of paroxysm*.

"What's so funny?" Gene asked as Gilbert led the way across the street.

"Oh nothing," but Gilbert's chuckle returned, more prominent than before. "I do hate having to ask to have a look. It's my job."

"Tell me about it," Gene agreed. "We're professionals and those exams provide critical information."

Gilbert stopped a moment to get his bearings. After a bit of head scratching, Gilbert decided he had made a left turn when he should have gone right. He backtracked and Gene circled too.

"Where are we going again?"

"Errand for Dora," Gilbert answered, as he approached a clapboard house. "I have a note for Mr. Ralph Andrews."

"You mean," Gene looked around to make sure no one was listening. " _The father. . ._ "

" _Yes,_ " Gilbert said, mimicking Gene's emphasis. "And here we are."

Gilbert pointed to a large, three story residence with porch and porch swing. There were forgotten about potted plants at the ends of the steps. The blooms and foliage were gone and nothing but bare stems reached over the terra-cotta.

"After you," Dr. Felder said as he opened the gate.

* * *

"Mr. Andrews!" Mrs. Agatha MacDougal** announced as she caught sight of the aforementioned on the stairwell.

She didn't have time to waste and the fist on her hip displayed her impatience. Once again she had been interrupted from her daily routine for yet another surprise visitor. She was never going to get the new rose patterned wallpaper hung at this rate.

"Mr. _Ralph_ Andrews!" Her Scottish accent was more pronounced this time as she tapped her 'r'. The student leaned over the railing.

"Yes Ma'am."

Mrs. MacDougal used her index finger to gesture, "Come here."

He hurried downstairs and jumped to a stop before Mrs. MacDougal.

Agatha told herself next time she interviewed a potential boarder, she would listen to the little voice in her head that had tried to warn her about this one. Her instincts were better than she thought. She wasn't impressed with Ralph even if he gave himself airs saying she should be.

"You have company again, Mr. Andrews. I've put them in my parlor with tea. They're waiting for you." When she heard her voice, sharp and certain, she couldn't keep her grievance reined in a second longer. "I'm tired of all these folk comin' 'round asking for you. I'm not running a social club."

"No Ma'am," Ralph agreed. "You just have the best home away from home."

Mrs. MacDougal snorted. Her deceased husband would roll in his grave to know what her life was like now.

"Don't keep them waiting," Mrs. MacDougal insisted as she tucked a wing of strawberry blonde hair back. "I'll introduce you, but I don't have time to stay."

They took a few steps toward the parlor. Ralph could see a bald-headed man sitting in an easy chair adjusting his hat, which then slipped his grasp. He heard a soft chuckle as his head popped down out of sight and then reappeared.

"This sure is an interesting lot you attract." She stopped him for a moment. With a more motherly tone, she asked. "I still can't get ov'r the girl that wanted to see you. What'd you tell her anyway? She cried and cried on my porch after you left for class. Then your mother showed up a few days later. Now there are two doctors sitting in my parlor wanting to see you. What's going on? Are you in trouble?"

"Ma'am, I really don't know," Ralph managed to keep his face neutral as he truthfully informed, "I'm not expecting anyone. Honest."

Mrs. MacDougal bit her lip, considering, "Are you sick? This is not a hospital if you are. I don't want a reputation of running a sick-house either."

He shook his head 'no' and raised his shoulders to emphasize his uncertainty, but it took a half second's glance at Dr. Gilbert Blythe to realize it this was about his old girlfriend. Ralph saw anger cloud Gilbert's face as their eyes met. The bald doctor stood as Mrs. MacDougal followed in behind Ralph. Gilbert stood too but didn't lift his scowl.

"Gentlemen, here is Mr. Andrews." Mrs. MacDougal informed.

Gilbert furrowed his brow and deepened his stare. Ralph bowed his head, indicating he understood that Gilbert wanted him to excuse Mrs. MacDougal.

Ralph feigned a cheerful smile. "Thank you, Mrs. MacDougal. Dr. Gilbert Blythe is a friend of my sister. And. . . " He squinted at the other physician, not recalling his face.

Gene stepped forward with an open hand. "Dr. Eugene Felder, Dr. Blythe's colleague."

Ralph shook Dr. Felder's hand and about buckled from the pressure. Not giving away his discomfort, he nodded at his landlady. "I'll just be a minute."

Once alone Gilbert retrieved a note from his breast pocket. Ralph recognized Dora's scrawl on the envelope. Her script slanted backward.

"Mr. Andrews, Miss Keith asked me to give this card to you. You are to read it in my presence and hand it back with your answer."

Dr. Felder held the envelope as Ralph read Dora's message. The correspondence made Ralph angry, but he tried not to show it too much. He knew about the service. His mother had mentioned it when she visited him. He had to lie to her. He had never told falsehoods before, but since Dora was trying to pin another man's child on him, he did so under duress.

"Well?" Dr. Blythe asked as he watched the young man shuffle about uncomfortably.

He had known Dora a long time. They had always been friends and he didn't like the fact she had suffered a miscarriage, but his sympathy for her had dried up. He couldn't believe the audacity she displayed in her insistence that he was the father. It was very plain in the note. She even asked him if he had ideas for a name, something for a boy or a girl.

"I am not..."

Concern appeared on his face and he looked around the threadbare room, wondering how much Dr. Felder knew about this situation. Of course, Gilbert would know all about it. His mother had told her she was staying with Anne for a while.

"There must be another."

"I believe Dora," Dr. Blythe stretched out his hand indicating that Ralph was to return the note. Ralph fumbled to reinsert the card into the envelope. Under his breath, Gilbert added, "You can't _time_ your way out of fatherhood."

"Now look Gilbert," Ralph pushed the correspondence back into his waiting hand. "You're married now. . . Surely you must know it is possible to avoid _that_."

"It's Dr. Blythe to you and we're not talking about my marriage."

"More reason for you to understand my point," Ralph argued. In the pause that followed, Ralph tacked on a polite "Dr. Blythe" and then "Sir".

Gilbert returned the note back into his breast pocket. "Well, I'll tell Miss Keith it's a 'no' then from you."

Ralph nodded. "Is Dora alright, then?"

His mother had said something about Dora not being fit to provide children. In someways, the incident had saved him from a fruitless marriage. It was the silver lining of this dark cloud.

"She is recovering from serious trauma. I am a little surprised that you ask, frankly. You said my sister was of the lowest reputation."

"I heard you called her a whore." Dr. Felder spoke blandly. "That's not a very nice word, Mr. Andrews. You caused Miss Keith more pain with your language than with your. . ."

"I can't believe this." Ralph admonished, irritated with the direction Dr. Felder was going. How dare this stranger allude to his privates. "Well, at least mine still works. How old are you anyway, Baldy?"

Ralph's unkind insinuation caused Dr. Felder to launch at him. Dr. Blythe held Dr. Felder back with a hand.

"I was going to say 'affections' you twit." Now Gilbert's other hand braced his shoulder as he lunge forward. "My body works just fine, let me show you its fist!"

"Gene! No!" Gilbert was surprised at how strong Eugene was when he wanted to be. "He's not worth it."

In this chaos Ralph slipped out of the parlor. Eugene's nostrils continued to flare as Gilbert pushed him back.

Mrs. MacDougal returned with their overcoats.

"I saw Mr. Andrews make a beeline to his room," Mrs. MacDougal chose not to comment on the reddened faces the pair of them wore. "That one. . . he's been nothing but trouble for me. Eats in his room and sneaks out at night. His laundry smells of cigar smoke. I don't permit smoking. What did he do?"

"Mrs. MacDougal," Gilbert delivered his best grin as he stuffed his arms into his garment. "I'm _really_ not at liberty to explain, but, let's jut say that he's not being very responsible for his actions right now."

"You can say that again." Dr. Felder's dismay had leveled off. He was putting on his gloves.

Gilbert in the meantime, kept his smile going for Mrs. MacDougal, but she wouldn't be charmed. Her furious blinking suggested deep thinking. Gilbert saw the moment the gears stopped turning, her jaw clenched just before testing her assumption.

"Exactly, what sort of doctors are you?"

Mrs. MacDougal put a fist on her hip, certain that her conclusion had to be the correct one now. She had never taken algebra like her lodgers had, but the equation of an upset girl plus two doctors modified by a mother's visit could have only one answer.

"I'm a country doctor." Gilbert answered, "My practice is in the village of Glen St. Mary."

"A generalist?"

"Yes."

She regarded Dr. Felder, "I suppose that makes you the specialist, then? You said you were colleagues."

Dr. Felder tipped his hat to her. Mrs. MacDougal was smart as a whip. "I specialize in obstetrics and gynecology."

"This is about a baby." Mrs. MacDougal shook her head. "I should have known what a scamp Mr. Andrews was."

"Mrs. MacDougal, we didn't say that, did we?"

"Of course you didn't." Mrs. MacDougal hunched a bit as she opened the door. She was already trying to think of a way to bait Mr. Andrews' admission, but perhaps eviction wasn't worth the effort here. The boy would be gone in less than a month.

Gilbert put on his hat and reached into his pocket. "Take my card, please." He stepped aside so Gene could pass. "I'm an islander at heart, and, if you have yourself an unruly fellow and need discreet help, call. You have a telephone?"

Mrs. MacDougal stared at the heavy paper with his name Dr. G. Blythe and how to reach him.

"No, I can manage," Mrs. MacDougal gave a short laugh, "But, I'll keep the card just the same, Dr. Blythe."

* * *

Dora Keith settled on the arm rest of a chair as she nervously waited for her guardian. From the entrance, she could hear the sound of wraps being removed and hung on pegs and then Gilbert's fake complaint of the luggage being too heavy.

"What on Earth?" Anne's surprised lingered.

Dora could visualize Anne's face, brightly lit and her mouth open, ready to speak again. And sure enough. . .

"You didn't have to bring everything you owned."

"Anne Blythe, this way I can travel light when I return for Christmas." Marilla's raspy voice declared. The close walls in the entry way amplified her voice. "Save on Davy's back some. He's been out of sorts lately."

"Oh, is Davy sick? I'm sorry to hear that." Anne's voice trailed off just as Dora's ears perked to hear more.

Marilla responded, "Not sick so much, I can't put a finger on it, he's living in his own world. A sad one I think. . . "

Dora rolled her eyes while she could get away with it. Those two had always favored Davy over her. Why had she hoped for something different? Her geography had changed, but nothing else. She was still alone in choking isolation. Even Anne and Gilbert's calico cat hid from her.

The front door shut again and Dora knew that Gilbert was headed back out, either to some patient or perhaps just to the barn to unhitch Monty from the rig. Perspiration built along her brow and in her armpits as Marilla came closer. Anne's quick this 'n that chatter did nothing to distract her from her feelings. She held her anxious stomach as they rounded the corner.

Marilla Cuthbert stood stalk still as she caught sight of Dora. She had trained herself to adopt a stoic countenance when facing contention and Dora couldn't read her at first. Marilla's softened as she saw fear in her daughter's eyes. Before she knew it her elderly arms circled her child and her hands pressed Dora's head to her bony shoulder.

For Dora, she received relief from her nausea when she saw a twinkle in her guardian's eye. And the arms that held her. . . _Oh, these arms that almost never provided a caress_. . . Dora was lost in emotional paradox, knowing how ridiculously out of character it was for Marilla to hug, but at the same time, feeling perfection.

"I'm so glad you're alright now," Marilla added a kiss to her cheek which Dora politely returned.

"Anne, do you think there's time I can talk to this beautiful woman before supper?"

Saying nothing, but displaying plumped cheeks that hid a smile, Anne drifted off to the kitchen.

Dora pulled away and sniffed. "My baby . . ." Dora didn't need to complete her thought, not that she could.

"I'm sorry Dora," Marilla soothed as her hands cupped the curve of Dora's skull. "I didn't prepare you as well as I should have for growing up. In fact, I avoided it. I let Rachel and Anne do it, answering your questions. And I justified it because, after all, what do I know? This is my fault if we had only spoken more, maybe, you would have been the wiser."

"Marilla, I knew what I was doing," Dora confessed without much sorrow edging her words. "I. . . I'm not sure it would have helped. I was willfully disobedient."

"May I ask why you were?" Marilla asked.

It was a difficult question to answer.

"I felt so alone and Ralph, he was there. Ready to hold me through whatever troubled me. I never felt like I could talk to you. Really talk. . . " Dora explained. "Be honest, the fact that I'm quiet is something you admire in me. It didn't seem worth it to prattle like Davy and Anne."

Marilla nodded as Dora said this. "Well, we'll make a point to talk from now on, everyday. Even if it's about little things, so that when something big comes along, the dialogue is there. Ready." Marilla stopped explaining as Gilbert crossed the room on his way to the kitchen. Once alone again, she continued, "Dora, I admit, I like holding my cards close. I think it's the same for you?"

"Maybe a little," Dora suppressed a small laugh. "Perhaps a lot. I think now we're more alike than different. Ever since. . ."

Marilla seemed to know what Dora was trying to say. Helping her along, "Have you've done some reading, lately?"

Dora went pink and peeped, "You and Gilbert's father?"

Marilla widened her eyes. "Well, that was a very long time ago. . ."

"I'm sorry," Dora interrupted now. "I am sorry I said you didn't know what it meant to be in love. That was foolish of me."

"I forgive you, Dora. That story is complicated with the Blythe family secret. I want people to think that I'm stingy that way, saves me a lot of questions and protects John's family from discovery." Marilla hushed, "But, I'll explain what happened later."

When Anne called the two of them to her table for supper, Marilla put her hand on the small of Dora's back to guide her along.

"I missed you," Dora told Marilla when they joined hands for the blessing. For the first time in months, Dora felt hungry. She satisfied her appetite without guilt.

* * *

The next day a red-eyed Leslie Moore knocked and asked if Anne might have time for a walk? Leslie was out of sorts and shook like a leaf at Anne's door. Anne might have offered Leslie a cup of tea first if Marilla hadn't handed Anne her overcoat and urged her to go.

"I think you're cooped up, Anne. That's why you're having these episodes. You're used to being outside more. Even at Summerside you spent a good chunk of your time outdoors, walking to work and your visits to the cemetery." Marilla musings continued over Anne's attempt to speak. "Mrs. Moore will be there if you get faint, but I don't think you will."

"Oh, Anne!" Leslie apologized, she never thought of Anne having troubles too. "I'm so sorry. I didn't know you weren't feeling well."

Anne was determined to escape a conversation about her dizzy spells. Leslie wasn't to know about her springtime arrival until after Christmas.

"Sometimes I get a bit woozy," Anne casually informed. "It just comes and goes, as long as I can sit down quietly, I do recover." She put on her coat and then wrapped a scarf around her neck and head. "Marilla's probably right anyway, I do need some time outside. As long as I'm escorted, it should be fine. Gilbert is always telling me to walk more."

"Is he in Charlottetown again?" Leslie held the door open as Anne crossed the threshold.

"He's in Maywater today," Anne shook her head, not quite understanding what Gilbert had tried to explain at the crack of dawn. "Their local doctor called for reinforcements and Gilbert felt he ought to help."

Leslie let Anne hook her arm into hers and they ventured toward the cobbled path that led to the ocean. From the kitchen window, Marilla monitored their slow ramble, wondering what on Earth had shaken up Mrs. Moore. The woman clung to a handkerchief that stood out against her black wraps. When they disappeared from view, Marilla tucked her chin to her chest and went to talk with Dora.

Dora Keith sewed in the parlor. She sat in a beam of sunlight streaming in from the south window. On the side tables, she had lit the matched reading lamps to bathe the room in additional brightness. For a brief moment, Marilla thought Dora angelic because the sunshine haloed her blonde head. But her focus was on her industry, which marred the saintly impression. Dora was no heavenly being, but she wasn't the devil either.

Her black dress was too short and she hurried to remove the hem and reinforce the selvage edge. She squinted to see her original stitches and cut them loose. In truth, the dress should be replaced but there wasn't time to make another. She still fit in the bodice as long as her corset strings were taunt, but the skirt was noticeably short. She hoped when done her skirt would drape to her shoes.

Marilla made herself comfortable in the adjacent chair, crossing her feet at the ankles.

"Dora?"

Dora's concentration stayed on her dress until Marilla reached over to Dora's lap and removed the garment.

"I've been thinking about my will and what I want to pass down." Marilla smiled as she saw Dora lean back to listen. Her hands twitched for something to do in the absence of work. "I don't have a lot, but what I do have I treasure. Anne will get my amethyst broach. Davy will get Green Gables and the farm. For you. . ." Marilla considered her next words. "I hope you don't think I'm short changing you, but I want you to have the Cuthbert Bible, along with all the other books and heirlooms in the house."

"You want me to have a Bible?" Dora frowned, thinking Marilla wanted her to own a document that preached the evils of fornication.

Marilla sighed to hear Dora's disappointment. She wasn't sure how to help her see her rationale.

"I know it doesn't sound fancy or elegant, as Anne would say, but I want you to become the next steward of our family's history. That bible has been in our family for over a century and the history recorded in its pages is more important to me than the scriptures. It has information that cannot be replicated and I trust you with it."

"Me?" Dora's surprise couldn't be more complete. Her breath bated. Didn't she explain the day before how she had been disobediant and untrustworthy?

"Yes, you!" Marilla nodded, certain that she had made the right decision. "I no longer want to tell you we belong together, I want you to have the evidence of it. My great-grandfather was your great-great grandfather. The lineage is in there, going back to the print date of 1723. It's one of the few things brought over from Scotland that has survived."

Dora thought about it for a moment. "You know, I always wondered how we were related."

"When we go home, I'll show you exactly how we are!" Marilla promised. "I have a couple of updates to make still and I'll show you how it's done then too. Would you like that?"

"Yes."

"Which brings me to my next question." Marilla heard her voice hardened out of habit. "Do you have a name for your son?"

Dora shook her head. "Not yet. I've been thinking about it a lot. I even tried to send word to Ralph and he. . . "

"Darling," Marilla was surprised to hear herself say that word. Dora seemed surprised too. "The Andrews have washed their hands of this whole affair. But, if there's a bright side, I think you might have some help from Mrs. Harmon in keeping the Avonlea gossips quiet. I might have mentioned something about her oldest, Prissy, and she agreed with me that no good would come from such small talk. She'll want to keep Ralph's name clean. You can go back to your life as if it never happened."

"Marilla, I don't care what other people think," Dora said firmly. "And I want people to know what happened. I'm not going to deny my son's life, as pathetic as it was."

"Dora, I'm sorry." Marilla searched for a reasoned response, "Surely you can see how it might be wiser to pretend this never happened. You can't even explain how you know it was a boy. Not everyone knows about Gilbert's powers, especially the Andrews."

"But what if someone asks?" Dora tossed back. "I can't lie about this. I won't lie about this. He's a part of me, and Davy, and you. Did you care what others thought when you promised to marry Mr. Blythe? The second time?"

"I think that's different," Marilla stayed approachable as she spoke. "No one knew. No one thought John was going to live, much less come back to Avonlea. I only made the promise to give him hope. A dying man's wish."

"But. . ." Dora's face fell. _Was it a kindness Marilla had done or cruelty?_

"Don't get me wrong. I love John. I will always love him and I gave him something to cling to when he couldn't stop coughing. But I also thought he was going to die, and, my promise wouldn't matter."

"So, you lied to him," Dora felt her eyebrows connect.

"I gave hope to the hopeless," Marilla corrected, placing Dora in a world nuanced with grays rather than blacks and whites. "I never intended to be deceitful. When it became clear John had recovered and was coming home, I had to fish or cut bait. Oh Lord, what a horrible pickle I was in! It wasn't that I wanted to marry, I just didn't want to hurt him. But, I knew what was right. I asked Geri, Mrs. Blythe that is, to give him another chance, and I wrote to John to tell him to try again with Geri. I decided that if John and Geri's marriage fell apart, I didn't want the blame."

Dora remembered that final letter from John. She had dropped her jaw at the stark response Mr. Blythe had written. No purple prose in that one, just bewilderment.

"The next thing I knew, I told Matthew we could get a boy to help. I needed a distraction." Marilla then stopped to rest on a happier memory. "Anne showed up instead. I've been distracted ever since."

"Marilla?" Dora whispered as her elder regained her lost composure. "That had to be hard. Doing what was right instead of what might have made you happy. I'm proud of you."

Marilla lifted her wrinkled face and produced a smile to contrast her reflective eyes. She reached across their divide and grabbed her hand.

"Thank you, Dora." Marilla's eyes smarted. She wanted to say so much more, but she found it too difficult to address the broad ideas swamping her head. "I just wish I would have done right by you, instead of my pride ruling the day."

"Marilla, you have done right by me in so many ways, but, I think," Dora mentioned carefully, "If you came to grief from making a promise you couldn't keep, it's unfair to expect the same of me. Even if everyone thinks it's for the best, I cannot deny my son's life." Dora's hazel eyes set as she offered a compromise. "But, perhaps I can avoid advertising it."

Dora waited for Marilla to respond.

"What is it, those Yankees say, 'Honesty is the best policy?***' Well, I suppose I can accept that. You're old enough to make your own decisions, as long as, it doesn't harm the rest of us."

An idea formed from no where as Dora searched for a way to honor Green Gables. She sorrowly felt that Marilla would have been proud to hold her infant son, and that some of Marilla's resistance, was an unwillingness to connect to the life that only Dora knew. Her boy would have been every bit Marilla's grandchild, her very first.

"Marilla, would you mind if I name my son, Cuthbert?" Once she heard her inspiration aloud, she didn't like as much. Cuthbert didn't sound like a great first name.

"Oh, I don't mine, but it's not a nice name and I know something about having an unusual one." Marilla was glad Dora was considering her surname, but she spoke truthfully. "Cuthbert would make a better middle name."

"But I have your permission if I really want to?"

"Of course," Marilla grinned back, "It flatters me to think you might."

 **to be continued**

* * *

*credit to Oz-Diva  
**Character is the creation of elizasky, first appearing in _Glen Notes_.  
***Benjamin Franklin


	37. Witch

Timeline - _Anne's House of Dreams._ Approximately two or three months into Anne and Gilbert's marriage.

For a shorter narrative, I am combining events that occur in this book and introducing ideas and characters in a different order. Some characters I am not using at all. It is very helpful to know the events of this book even if I elect to take liberties.

* * *

 **Chapter 37: Witch**

"Finally, it's nice to see you're here. I've been thinking about homesteading in the lobby." Gilbert complained in a joking manner. He was close to the passenger car's exit, or close enough that he could talk over the crowd on the platform and be heard by his intended audience. Dr. Felder was corralled by two slow-to-move passengers on the steps and couldn't disembark from the train. He smiled and waved back. Dr. Blythe came closer and added, "I escorted Miss Cuthbert here a few hours ago. She was headed back to Avonlea, alone."

"Really? Miss Keith stayed behind?" The surprised doctor shook his head, realizing he'd be encountering Dora sooner rather than later. He worried about the ramifications of his letter, assuming she had read it.

A warm, gray smoke surrounded their legs as the train emitted exhaust. "Well, shall we go?" Gilbert urged.

The conductor shouted, "All aboard" and Eugene sidestepped to give the pressing crowd room. They bypassed the interior lobby and headed toward the hitching posts along the street.

Gilbert shuddered as an icy wind engulfed them and Eugene found himself tugging his muffler back into place.

"Dora wanted to stay with us a little longer, and honestly, I'm glad. I'll worry a lot less knowing Anne's not alone in the house."

"Oh dear," Dr. Felder's Adam's apple bobbed as they stopped at Gilbert's buggy. Gilbert circled the carriage to untie his horse. "More fainting spells, is it?"

Gilbert's weak frown confirmed Eugene's suspicions.

Monty shook his head which filled the air with jingles and Eugene dropped his satchel and medical bag into the back. That's when it happened. When he tried to spring up to the front bench, he lost his balance and fell on his rump.

Two giggling ladies passed as he picked up his eyeglasses and hat. He forced a return smile to the women before making a second attempt. This time, he took Gilbert's steadying hand that pulled him to his seat.

"What a way to impress the ladies!" Gilbert chuckled. Eugene's cheeks grew pink as Gilbert fixated on his clumsy display. "That pair, sisters. Can't remember their names, but I do recall they're single."

Eugene reconstructed his dignity, replying. "Oh, I'm not looking, at least, not anymore, if I was at all."

"Giddup!" Gilbert urged Monty and they lurched back when the rig jolted forward. Monty was ready to go, sick of standing in the cold wind.

The bells were plentiful and called attention to Dr. Blythe's vehicle. Some even yielded to him as if he were a fire wagon. Monty loved the new tack and the excessive number of bells on his harness and reins. Once warmed up, he seemed to prance, trotting in a manner that enhanced the music. Everyone watched. Some pointed.

Speaking over the jangles, Gilbert predicted. "Don't give up. Someday, the right one will come along, and when she does, you'll marry again, Gene. That's not just me wishing it for you, it's Anne too."

"Says the newlyweds. You know, Gil, it's not all happy fun times." Eugene could remember the quarrels. He regretted them so. He and Victoria had always fought hardest when they were preparing for a concert. "Marriage can be a lot of arguing."

"And a lot of making up." The silly, unadulterated grin Gilbert wore told Eugene more than he wanted to know. He shook his head to disapprove, a gesture which disagreed with the broad smile now on his face too.

The truth was Eugene missed having a mate. The physical aspect was important, but it wasn't more important than the emotional support. It would take a special someone to see him for himself. He was more than his medical degree and the trappings that came with his profession. She would have to embrace the motivations that defined his core. Unfortunately, most of the women he encountered were dazzled by his title and potential salary.

"You're thinking like a small-town doctor there, Gil. In a place like this, a physician just can't be single, can he? I bet you broke a few hearts when the locals found out you were already married."

Gilbert's face grew rosy now, he was very aware of the unsolicited looks he sometimes harvested from the opposite sex.

"There's a few that speak to Anne rather crisply at church."

"So, Anne goes out still?"

"Oh yes," Gilbert tilted his head in thought. "She doesn't feel faint sitting or resting, it's just when she moves suddenly. I've examined her, and everything seems on track. But you know, we've got seven months to go. Maybe she'll adjust."

"I'd be happy to have a look," Dr. Felder offered. It was the least he could do. "A second opinion never hurts, although, I suspect it's a problem with the vascular system. Maybe the uterus is pressing... "

"Gene," Gilbert shook his head 'no'. "It's not that I don't want your help, but I'm thinking that the problem isn't medical."

"What do you mean not medical? Those fainting spells sound alarming. That's symptomatic to a medical issue."

Gilbert glanced side to side from his perch behind Monty. Now that they were out of town, his horse had lost interest in showing off since no one was watching. The bells muffled from lack of movement.

"I haven't even mentioned this to Anne yet, but." Gilbert hedged. He should tell Anne his suspicion first, but he hadn't managed to find the time. He was concerned the conversation might go badly, but, practicing might strain out his worries. "The baby is a witch, like me. My mother went through the same thing. There's no remedy for Anne's vertigo."

Dr. Felder dragged a hand down his face realizing he wouldn't be much help. "You know, I forget about your powers sometimes. But, that would make sense. It is a bit puzzling when you look at it in the abstract."

"Well, we can talk about it later, we're almost here now." Gilbert chin-pointed towards a large house hidden behind a grove of maples. "Thanks for coming with me on this call. Saves me a trip."

"So," Eugene mentioned as the conversation lagged. "Heal any more cows, lately?"

Gilbert snorted, "I shouldn't have told you that if this is what I get in return."

"Oh, relax, Gil. Be glad you can expand your practice if you must. You'll always have work."

"So, the conference didn't help your situation?"

"Not really," Eugene answered. He was too tired to feign his normal cheerfulness. "I need support from patients. When we were at school, I thought educating the educators would be enough, but it's not. I must reach women with my message. I'm afraid that most doctors are not as frank about reproductive issues as they should be."

"I think they're as frank as society lets them get away with." It sounded like an excuse as Gilbert said it. It rang true though.

"Yes, there's a certain amount of social conditioning I'm fighting. Sex is explained with tall tales and by observing dogs and cats mate. That deluded boyfriend of Miss Keith's has such bad ideas about conception as a result."

Gilbert held his tongue because he didn't want to be admonished by Eugene, who had a habit of pointing out the risks he takes with his powers. But Ralph needed to be educated about matters of procreation and Gilbert meant to deliver that lesson. It was his responsibility as a physician. So, the other morning at the crack of dawn, he bi-located to Ralph's bedside table as a tiny man and woke Ralph. He then explained to the blurry-eyed and confused Andrews why _coitus inter_ _r_ _uptus_ doesn't work. The episode ended with Ralph running out of the room in a panic.

"Changing the world will take a lifetime, but in the meanwhile, what can I do to help you?"

"Do you want a piano?" Eugene offered. He had lost his case against his Pringle in-laws and he inherited his deceased spouse's favorite piano as a concession. "It's was new in 1820. Very compact as it's an old-style square shape. I'll arrange for a tuner as well once it's moved. It's meant to be played, Victoria would like that. I can't look at it without feeling heartbreak and selling it is out of the question." Eugene recalled Gilbert's gleeful expressions on marriage and reminded his host that he wasn't the first to invent such affection. "We fell in love playing music, you know."

Very practically, as they came to a stop in Mr. Morgan's large stable, Gilbert answered. "Gene, I'm sorry, but, I don't think I have room for it. Besides, Anne and I can't play it. We'd just look at it and wonder how it's done." Gilbert handed Eugene his medical bag from the back. "But, I'm flattered you'd trust me with something that means so much to you."

*/*/*

"Good afternoon, Mrs. Morgan." Dr. Blythe wiped his feet thoroughly on the doormat. He could tell that the occupants of the house weren't allowed to wear shoes inside, just slippers. There was a shoebox on the porch.

"I see you brought a tag along!" Mrs. Morgan noticed the medical bag Eugene carried with a deliberate lowering and raising of her head. "I hope we're not going to receive _two_ billings."

"I'm sorry," Dr. Blythe stepped aside to introduce Dr. Felder properly. "Dr. Felder is a buddy of mine who's visiting this weekend. I'm taking him on rounds, if you don't mind."

"Well, that will be Amos's decision. He might be bedridden right now, but there's nothing wrong with his mouth. He'll tell you if he doesn't want it." Mrs. Morgan opened the door wider and swooped her arm in a gathering motion. "Com' in. Com' in. You know the way."

The wide-hipped woman closed the door and waddled a few feet in front of them, wrapped in a crocheted shawl with rust-colored tassels. She disappeared into her parlor as Drs. Blythe and Felder removed hats and overcoats.

Gilbert took his time to memorize some of the house's features. It was large and airy, but not so large it couldn't be cozy. He liked the walnut banister. It was the kind children would love to slide down to the curled-in end. He imagined the Morgan's were forever telling their children to stop playing on it. A problem he coveted in a weird way.

He needed to upgrade his home, ideally, buy it outright from the owners and add on to it, or finance a new house in town. Marilla disapproved of their house of dreams. She said it was too small. Gilbert knew this already, but Marilla's pronouncement added urgency. She reminded him of the promises he made when he'd sought permission to marry Anne. He agreed that Anne and their children deserved better.

Dr. Blythe advanced to an interior door and Dr. Felder followed. Before entering his patient's room, Dr. Blythe explained, "Mr. Morgan is recovering from a minor stroke. He's a great patient though. Has a lot of grit. I think you'll like him."

Dr. Blythe wrapped the door and a gruff voice answered back, "Ah, Good Lord woman, we've been married fifty-six years, you don't have to knock any more, I tell you."

Dr. Felder snickered and Gilbert deadpanned, "It's Young Dr. Blythe and Dr. Felder, whom I want to introduce."

"Oh!" A clatter of things hit the floor.

 _Books maybe?_

"Ah, shit! Alright, come in, but mind you, I've got debris on the floor. I just knocked over all those damn knickknacks the wife leaves on my side table."

Ammonia filled their noses as they entered the room. The maid worked hard to keep Mr. Morgan in clean sheets. He was incontinent. As for the man himself, Mr. Morgan rested on his back with the covers pulled over his front and wore a striped bed shirt. His walking cane rested next to his bed, dusty from neglect.

"Say, are there two of you?" The old man squinted. He picked up his eyepiece that hung from a chain from his neck and placed in on the bridge of his nose.

"You should show him bi-location." Dr. Felder elbowed.

Dr. Blythe ignored Dr. Felder's quiet suggestion, instead, taking the first steps into the depths of the large suite. "Hello, Amos. Meet my colleague, Dr. Felder."

"Hmm," The elderly man tried to peer around Dr. Blythe to analyze the new face. He stopped his efforts when Dr. Blythe had finished walking across the room.

"So, how do you feel?" Dr. Blythe sat down alongside the mattress, one leg propping him up, so he didn't slip.

"I'll get with you in a second." Mr. Morgan promised.

Amos positioned himself so he could be seen by the new fellow in the room that still stood near the door. He waved a finger to Dr. Felder and instructed, "Bring the chair, Sparky, won't you?" He then pointed to the other side of his bed, indicating Dr. Felder might sit next to him during the house call. "Young Doc here likes to hover, but no need for you to stand. He's quite the talker, asking me this and that. The exact opposite of Old Doc. He hardly said a word."

"Uncle Dave never treated you for stroke though. May I?"

Amos Morgan consented with a roll of his eyes. He didn't care for this part of Young Dr. Blythe's examinations.

Dr. Blythe gingerly picked up the gentleman's hand to ascertain the extent of his improvement. He had already observed that Amos was feeling better. The patient moved in his bed easier than last week and his conversational quips indicated some recovery. A quick reading using his powers should tell him what the patient couldn't articulate.

"Now Amos, squeeze my hand."

"You're a real sweetheart of a guy, I can tell." The old man joked and squeezed as directed. He never liked having his hand held by a man and humor helped him manage that awkward feeling. "Why is your hand always so hot?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, Amos." Dr. Blythe apologized. "I was just testing your grip as I can tell a lot from it. You've got some strength back. Probably why you accidentally knocked over this décor." Gilbert looked down at a couple of pictures on the floor before returning his attention. "I don't think you could have done that last week."

"I do feel better. True."

"Let me help you pick this up."

"Looks like I'm still in the delivery business." Dr. Felder said as he finished pushing the heavy chair to the spot Mr. Morgan had pointed out earlier.

The old man shrugged, not understanding the joke, but not caring enough to ask. He turned his head as Gilbert arranged the personal tokens, but one picture remained in Dr. Blythe's hands as curiosity glinted his eyes.

"I recognize this place." It was a photo of the entire Morgan clan, taken at the seashore. "Isn't this the Moore's land? And is this grainy white blob in the distance not the house I live in now?"

"Possibly, but, I think you mean the West's land as far as I'm concerned. Dick Moore is a travesty of a man."

Gilbert passed the image over when his patient gestured for it. Mr. Morgan held it close to his face, inspecting it as he spoke to both Dr. Blythe, on his left and Dr. Felder, sitting on his right.

"This picture predates the Wests though. The land was Mr. Selwyn's. Us brothers took our families to that old pier for a picnic. Carlton had just come home from Paris, a bonafide photographer, and was wanting to use all that equipment. So, we lined up against the boardwalk." He tapped the photo indicating the infrastructure that was hidden behind most of the family. "We had a great time until Selwyn said we were trespassing and asked us to leave."

Gilbert managed a jolt of shock. Captain Jim had idolized Mr. Selwyn so much Gil had just assumed that such devotion was warranted. After all, there wasn't many around the Glen to counter Captain Jim's stories. Mr. Morgan was one of the few that could. He and Mr. Selwyn would have been about the same age.

"Sounds like you didn't like Mr. Selwyn. Captain Jim thinks mighty highly of him."

"James Boyd was never here to see his real colors." Mr. Morgan shrugged as he explained. "That teacher had a reputation with the ladies. I told my girls to stay away from him and not to take him up on the private tutoring he offered. No man memorizes so much poetry and not be a romantic. He was a cheat in business too. He was always selling what-ever goods Pirate Willis had, which undercut my business. Never a happier day for me and many others than the day he split town. He was a witch, you know. He knew when to run and where to hide."

Dr. Blythe stiffened again when Mr. Morgan mentioned magic. Captain Jim had convinced him that the schoolmaster had been a respectable man and a devoted husband, but like his patient pointed out, how would Captain Jim know for certain if he was always away? Their friendship had been punctuated with long periods of not seeing one another.

"Might I see the picture?" A voice requested. The old man turned his head from Dr. Blythe and passed the much talked about picture to Dr. Felder.

Gilbert continued to examine Mr. Morgan as Dr. Felder asked about particulars.

"Mr. Morgan, which one are you, sir?" Dr. Felder leaned in so that they could both review the black and white document together.

The man touched his immortalized image. "There I am! My wife is in front of me with the baby. My youngest, Sarah. The other four are there too.." His arthritic finger scanned out the faces, saying the names as he recognized them. "Hester, Abigail, Dorcas, and Charlotte. You might have heard of Charlotte. She writes novels and has made a name for herself in Toronto, writing for love-sick women."

"Can't say I have." Dr. Felder looked again at the indistinct seascape. The sandbar was a fuzzy blip on the edge, balanced by a rolling bluff on the other side.

"How old is this picture?"

"Fifty years or so..." Mr. Morgan said. "That was taken on Easter. My brother's family was in town. It was the last time my siblings and I were all together."

"It's a lovely picture. I can see why you've kept it." Dr. Felder said as he returned the item back to the owner. Amos then attempted to perch it back on the doily-strewn side table. Dr. Blythe helped in the endeavor.

"I never knew there had been a landing there." He shook his head because it was absurd to put a landing so close to a sandbar.

"Really Dr. Blythe? I heard about it from Mrs. Moore. Last time I was here to visit." Dr. Felder chimed in. He was bored in his chair now as Gilbert lifted the sheet to examine Mr. Morgan for sores. "She said that when her father bought the property they tore it down and used the wood to build her house."

"That sounds like something Frank would have done, alright." The patient said, "Frank was a good man, he wasn't lazy like some claim, but was riddled with bad health and bad luck. He hung himself in the living room. I think..." The old man broke off. The two faces that looked back at him were wide-eyed now. "I wouldn't put it past that old witch into cursing the place. It's malevolent, what's happened to that family over the years. Particularly with the men of that house."

"Well, that was all a long time ago," Dr. Felder cut-in as Dr. Blythe paled. "Let's find out how you're doing?"

With an elongated sigh, Dr. Blythe reported. "You're lookin' pretty good, Amos. I don't see any sores, but I'd like to listen to your ticker."

"Sure," Amos agreed. He unbuttoned the front of his shirt revealing a hairy, gray chest. It was on par with the crop of longish hair he kept pinned back with his large ears. He jumped a bit when Dr. Blythe pressed the cold metal to his pectoral.

He turned his attention back to Dr. Felder. "What did you say your name was?"

Eugene offered a hand, "Dr. Eugene Felder."

"So, are you policing this one over here." Mr. Morgan indicated Dr. Blythe and the cardiac examination he was performing. "He's a strange coot, I'll tell you that!"

"Oh, you have no idea, Mr. Morgan." Dr. Felder's eyebrows wiggled. "Dr. Blythe and I were roommates in medical school."

"Medical school, what will they think of next? Old Doc never went to a fancy medical school. Or, at least I never heard him mention it. He said he was born to heal." Mr. Morgan stopped as Gilbert moved a supporting pillow. "Oh, you want me to lean forward?"

"It makes listening to your lungs easier." Dr. Blythe informed. The old man bent forward so that Dr. Blythe could hear the three lobes of each lung.

Amos waited for Dr. Blythe to finish before returning to what he was telling Dr. Felder. "Where was I?"

"You were saying that Dr. David Blythe didn't go to medical school."

"Time to check your reflexes," Gilbert announced again, showing him the hammer that he procured from his medical bag.

Mr. Morgan waved approval to Dr. Blythe and returned to his conversation.

"That's right. Yet, he was one of the best doctors I've ever had. He can cure any stomach ailment, I tell you. He was better than old Dr. Crabb. What a monster he was. I'm not sure if that was his real name or a moniker describing his bedside manners."

"Uh," Gilbert interrupted. He was assessing Mr. Morgan's feet. He had the blanket pulled back to Mr. Morgan's ankles. "Amos, can you feel this?"

With one hand holding Amos's foot, and the other free, Gilbert ran a finger on the underside of his patient's arch.

"Some. It feels like water trickling. You sure I'm not peeing?"

"Can't you tell?" Dr. Blythe furrowed his brows together.

"Well, I was trying to be funny, but.." Amos patted himself, checking for leaks. "Half the time I can't tell I've wet myself. That poor woman of mine is sick of changing sheets."

Gilbert put down Mr. Morgan's foot, covered it up, and sat bedside again.

"It sounds pretty typical for what you've been through." Gilbert dropped a hand on Mr. Morgan's knee. "I know the incontinence bothers you, but it might improve if you practice those exercises we talked about last time. Like you're peeing, and you want to stop the stream. Practice those muscles. And, use the briefs we talked about, the ones..."

"I'm not wearing a diaper!" Amos stated flatly. "After all, I was sort of kiddin' when I said I might be peeing."

"Of course you were," Dr. Blythe snickered as he stood up. "Anything else I should know about?"

The old man's breath hitched a bit and he waved a hand to gather the doctors closer to him. "I've had one or two really strong stiffies. You know… like it was when I was a youngster."

"Is that unusual?" Dr. Blythe asked while Dr. Felder adopted an intrigued face.

"Well, you know." Amos blinked down a moment and attempted not to blush. "I wouldn't mind being woken up by them if my bride found them as interesting as I do, but she says she's barren now and I can stop getting so excited. Plus, I do understand I may not be in my most attractive state right now."

"Well, I'd say on the whole your body is just feeling better, testing itself out."

"Keep talking with your wife," Dr. Felder suggested. "It will help you feel better, keeping that conversation going. You don't have to necessarily engage in any activity."

He waved a frustrated hand, shaking off the idea. "The only stick she's interested in is that darn crochet hook." Amos shifted again and Dr. Blythe adjusted the bed pillows behind him. "I know you're married." He spoke about Young Doc Blythe, but then prodded Dr. Felder. "Are you married, Doctor? Sorry, I forgot your name already, old age is such fun!"

"Dr. Felder," Eugene repeated with an understanding grin. "I am a widower, but I do remember being married well enough."

"Oh," Amos looked away, embarrassed for his candor. "I beg your pardon."

"It's alright," Dr. Felder answered. "It causes me no pain to discuss. I came into medicine because of her passing away. I wanted to learn everything I could about obstetrics and gynecology."

The old man's face wrinkled trying to understand the words.

"Women's health that is. My wife Victoria and child died in childbirth."

"That's terrible. No wonder you lost your hair." Amos blinked and Dr. Blythe laughed as Eugene rubbed his bald crown. There was a reverend beat before Mr. Morgan continued his thoughts. "That was rude of me to say. I'm sorry about that. I can't imagine what that would be like. I forget that some women need doctors like that. My wife had no problems. She shot them out like cannonballs from a cannon. The midwife wanted to know her secret."

"I don't find your frankness rude. It's refreshing to me, actually." Dr. Felder said as he stood. Gilbert had packed his black bag a few moments before and was waiting for the conversation to peter out before leaving. "Looks like we need to say good-bye."

"I'll be back in a few days, sir." Dr. Blythe promised.

"It was really nice to meet you, Mr. Morgan." Dr. Felder supplied his own hand once more. "I enjoyed your stories."

"Come back anytime, I have many." As the door latched behind them, he called out. "And you can call me Amos."

* / * / *

"So, what's really going on with Mr. Morgan?" Eugene asked with his mouth full. Mrs. Morgan had given them a half dozen sugar cookies in parting and Eugene was nibbling on them one after another. They were good, a crisp wafer of sweet and sour with hints of almond.

Gilbert looked around to make sure it was only Eugene within his hearing. "There's something going on with his prostate."

"So, heal him."

"The question isn't can I, but should I?" Gilbert unwound his internal debate for a new audience. He and Anne had discussed the 'To heal or not to heal' question. "Here's the thing. Mr. Morgan is very well known and respected in this town. And, everyone knows what happened to him as he had his stroke in the middle of Carter Flagg's store. If I heal him outright, a quick recovery is going to be noticed. And, I don't want another Rhoda Allonby."

"What does Anne think?"

"We think that if I was meant to heal him, I would feel a stronger draw to do it. You know how Mr. Moore's case nags at me. I'm supposed to help him." Gilbert swallowed down the regret in his throat. "But in Mr. Morgan's case, I don't feel that urge at all. In fact, I feel almost the opposite, that this is what is supposed to happen. Sometimes I wield my powers: sometimes my powers wield me."

"I do recall you healed because 'you had to.'" Eugene slapped a hand on his back as he didn't mean to dredge up a bad memory. "I thought it foolish at the time, but healing Tomgallon's son was the right call, and it worked out. Your instincts are not always horrible."

"Ah, what high praise there," Gilbert was hanging between a guffaw and disgust. He really felt he should be more offended, but Gene had seen him and his powers at their very worst.

"I was trying to give you a compliment, it just came out wrong." Eugene apologized and raised his hands. "Honest! You're doing very good work here. No wonder your practice is booming. You know I wouldn't say it if I didn't believe it."

"Thanks!" Gilbert's half smile made his chin jut. "You know, I don't think I'd be the success I am without your help during school."

"Really? It was only one year Gil. One year that I helped you manage your powers."

"Still," Gilbert sighed as the road curved over the top of a sloping hill. His home was a welcomed sight in the not far off distance. And in the other direction, through the leaf-bare limbs of the Lombardy trees, a rising moon was dueling with a fading sun. Gilbert experienced a satisfying pang to his soul. An ineffable emotion that threaded him to eternity. This was his life and it was beautiful. He completed his thought not to compliment, but to share the perfection. "It means a lot to call you friend."

 **to be continued**

* * *

*Mrs. Morgan and her crocheting stuck with me from _Booties for Walter_ , by elizasky, although, I had forgotten where I had read it when I was working through this update.


	38. Serendipity

Timeline - _Anne's House of Dreams._ Approximately two or three months into Anne and Gilbert's marriage..

For a shorter narrative, I am combining events that occur in this book and introducing ideas and characters in a different order. Some characters I am not using at all. It is very helpful to know the events of this book even if I elect to take liberties.

* * *

 **Chapter 38: Serendipity**

Anne Blythe hurried along the dusky path, her head tucked to her chin and her right hand in Gilbert's left. She moved as fast as she dared and concentrated on not feeling queasy. The ocean sounds and scents were beginning to overwhelm her shaky equilibrium. But Gilbert said he might need her to heal the old man, so she let her husband pull her along. Dr. Blythe sensed the Great Destroyer encroaching on the lighthouse. Once alerted to the threat, his magical powers informed him it was not too late to thwart an attack.

Anne berated herself for not investigating her suspicions earlier. Captain Jim's chair was vacant for supper and it was unlike him to break a promise. Gilbert had not been concerned. He claimed that a person had to monitor the light at all times, and the good Captain didn't come because he had misjudged the availability of his assistant.

It was when Anne collected the dishes and took them to the sink for washing, she realized the lighthouse light wasn't right. The flare had no intensity. The seaside ships were in peril because the warning beam was essentially gone.

Goose-flesh erupted over her skin from her danger-tinted worries. Captain Jim would never let the lamp grow so weak, not if he could help it.

* * *

Dr. Eugene Felder circled the table with the hot water kettle, trying to be useful in the wake of Gilbert and Anne's sudden departure. His shoes made a clopping sound as he crossed the gap between the cook-stove and the dining area. He bypassed Anne's cup, which was still full of tea, and Gilbert's cup, which had an annoying mustache guard, and hovered over Miss Keith's.

"More hot water for you, Miss Keith? No reason why our cups should go dry while Anne and Gilbert run over to the light. I do hope Captain Tim is alright."

Dora giggled wondering how the man in question would respond to being rechristened. She had spent too much time in recent days thinking about boy's names. Timothy was a nice name, but it wasn't one suited for the Captain that had shown her how to do a jig. She corrected Dr. Felder in a heartbeat.

"It's Captain _Jim_. And no thank you, I don't want any more hot water right now. I've got this mess to deal with."

She was elbows deep in dishes but cocked her head towards the direction of the light. Anne had left the faded curtain pulled back.

Eugene returned the kettle back to the stove. "Suit yourself."

"Thanks anyway, Doctor."

"You're very welcome, Miss Keith."

Dora smiled warmly over her shoulder and toward his loud footsteps. He was nice. Not every man would be so considerate. Ralph would have expected her to drop everything and serve him. And, it wasn't that long ago that she would have done it too.

Eugene returned to his chair and sipped his weakened tea. He wasn't quite sure what to do and found himself reading Gilbert's abandoned newspaper. Hiding thus seemed to be a good distraction, until Dora was done with her chore. He would have helped her dry, but the kitchenette was small and she stood in the tightest spot. Perfect for the newlyweds but not necessarily for two others.

Finally, Dora set the last pot on the drain board and was attempting to strain the dirty water by passing it through cheesecloth.

"Do you need help?" Eugene offered as she struggled with the weight of the bucket.

"No," Dora said as she dumped the liquid down the drain. The tub grew lighter as the volume decreased. "I can manage. I've been doing the dishes for Anne since I got here, except the day that..." Dora cut herself off.

Eugene completed her ellipse. "Since the day you lost your baby?"

Dora slumped her shoulders, her voice was laced with frustration. "Yes, that's what I was about to say." She wiped down the counter, not looking back.

"Oh, I wish I could have done something to save you from all that. I regret it so. I am sure that's why I've been so preoccupied with you… I mean, your crisis. Maybe someday there will be a viable way to save both mother and child."

Miss Keith's grief stirred up to the top, like chicken fat in soup. And Dr. Felder scanned the opposite wall to give her time to recover from his mentioning of it. He always said too much. _Control Gene! Control_.

"I do know that, Dr. Felder. But it happened, and now..." Dora once more cut herself off, but this time for lack of vocabulary. She didn't know how to put her raw emotion into words and not dilute the experience.

"Now?"

"I'm changed," Dora announced. "I can't go back to the person I was, no matter how much Marilla might want me to. It's why I stayed here a bit longer. She expects me to pick up where I left off, and I, can't."

Eugene appreciated her predicament. His expression was non-judging. Of course, he had felt the same in the aftermath of his great tragedy. He had been unable to continue his life as a musician. He abandoned his natural gifts to acquire new ones, thus, becoming a better man.

"Yes, I think I know what you mean."

Dora mimicked his head nod. "I thought maybe you would, Dr. Felder."

Eugene pushed her chair out from the table using his foot. The object seemed to move on its own accord, possessed like. Dora jumped back at first and then laughed at her own surprise. Anne and Gilbert's friend was asking her to join him at the table.

* * *

Gilbert knocked briefly at the door before he barged in, announcing himself loud enough that First Matey, the Captain's house cat, ran up the swirling stairs that reached to the top floor and its light.

"Captain Jim? It's Dr. Blythe. It's Gilbert!"

Anne also entered the strange little abode. She was more familiar with the layout of the furniture and veered off to a small sitting area as Gilbert pressed forward, calling out again.

"Jim!"

"Oh, thank God you're here!" A male voice hollered back from the deep. The voice was not that of the crusty old sailor but of Mr. Owen Ford. "Captain Jim fell from a ladder, a good ten feet. He was trying to hurry down when he slipped on one of the treads. I heard a big thump and his wail. The rest of my days, I don't think I shall ever forget that hollow, bouncy thud."

Anne blinked through her building discomfort as her imagination provided the horrid acoustic. She forced her invention out of her head if only to keep herself from taking ill. Instead, she made herself useful. The room was dark and Gilbert would need strong light. She lit the table lamps in the front and back rooms as Gilbert made his way to the voice. The hexagonal interior and its shadowy angles brightened, revealing a dire scene.

Captain Jim laid awkwardly on his side as a shirtless Owen Ford leaned over him, his hands pressing down above the old man's compromised limb. The fracture was ugly. The bone poked through Captain Jim's pant leg and his forehead had a nasty abrasion from where his face hit the floor. Anne glanced to a chair wondering if she should sit, her fingers and hands were shaking from nerves.

"How long has he been like this?" Dr. Blythe moved in and examined the tourniquet around Captain Jim's thigh. Owen sacrificed his shirt in an attempt to save Captain Jim's life.

"I'm not sure," Owen replied as Gilbert inspected the knot. The blood looked fresh still. He confirmed that impression when he caught sight of Owen's chest, where he had left blood smeared. It was bright too, which was good. Meanwhile, Owen guessed how long it had been. "Ten minutes? Fifteen? I had an inkling that he was in trouble and so I hurried over. I had to."

Anne brought the afghan from the sofa chair and spread it over Captain Jim's torso. Leaning over the body had made her dizzy. Squatting was out of the question for her, she sat on her rump and slowly breathed away her fussy head.

Gilbert approved of Anne's thoughtfulness with a head nod towards her which turned into a worried expression.

"Gil, what can I do?" Anne nestled behind Captain Jim's head where her back was supported by a wall. She wrung her hands together to stop their anxious shake and watched as Gilbert rent the trouser inseam.

"Anne, can you talk to him?" Gilbert suggested as he set back on his heels. He removed his gloves to channel is power into his patient. "Try to keep him awake through this. Once he starts slipping, it will be harder to bring him back.

"Owen, I ... ah." Gilbert hesitated to tell Owen what he was about to do, heal the leg with his magic. There was no time to explain and no point in making up a story. What could he possibly invent anyway? Owen was going to learn by watching.

Gilbert presented his hands, slowly, bringing them down over the break. "I've got this now. Give your arms a rest."

Owen let go of the pressure point, releasing more blood into the wounded leg. Captain Jim stirred.

"Captain Jim, can you hear me?" Anne said as she stroked one of his mutton chops. "Talk to me please." As Anne soothed his face, she wiped away some of the red stains and found his skin less damaged than she had first believed. The old man answered to her caress.

"Dare schoolmaster's trade. I ricollect it now. It ware a woman she wants. A fair maid… I sees it now. Tware a … a trap. He couldn't hide forever. Dare winds know … so windy." His eyes closed as if he was trying to hear the whispering gale coming in off the ocean.

"Captain Jim, what do you mean?" Owen wanted to know. "Jim!"

Gilbert did not try to find the logic in the old man's testimony. This level of confusion was a bad sign. He was going into shock.

"Gilbert, hurry. Whatever it is you mean to do, hurry." Owen was frantic as he rubbed his achy forearms.

"Captain, this won't hurt, what we're about to do. I know you're in a lot of pain." Using bilocation, Gilbert projected his healing magic into Captain Jim. He'd get the benefit of his duel channeling methods. Mending that crumpled leg would take a lot of supernatural strength.

"Anne. I … I need you." Gilbert whispered. His eerie call cut through the silence as loud as a shout.

Captain Jim knew he was a witch, even if Gilbert never confirmed it. The weathered man wouldn't look at him any differently. Gilbert feared, however, the same could not be said with Mr. Ford. He never talked about witchcraft, which led Gilbert to believe Owen disclaimed his magical connection through his ancestor, the original Four Winds witch, John Selwyn. The Toronto journalist was going to get the scoop of his life.

Anne dropped her hands on the top of Gilbert's. Instead of providing a stabilizing effect, this time, his powers surged.

Even Gilbert was amazed as the broken bone retreated. He momentarily forgot about Owen's weighted stare. Anne wasn't helping him channel his powers, but was channeling their child's. His baby's magic mirrored his, like a supernatural game of follow-the-leader. It was almost as if he could see his little girl next to him, with her hands up and head back, asking him to lift her up. And mentor her he did. Where-ever Gilbert sent his energy, his Joy did too. He was so proud he thought he might burst.

The healing took a toll on Anne. She shook from the lost energy and collapsed against Gilbert when it was over.

Owen fell to his knee and examined the leg anew. His gray eyes darted back and forth, from Anne and Gilbert to Captain Jim.

"I don't believe it." Owen sputtered as he rubbed the limb to be sure what he felt lined up with what he saw.

"Owen," Gilbert's voice was heavy. "Let's just say, I'm a very good doctor, and leave it at that."

"Oh, I can't do that," Owen frowned, shaking his head. He stared down his fine nose at both Blythes. "Besides, I see the truth. Anne, you're a witch. Just like ... my mother?"

Anne needed time to react to Owen's confession. He had once joked with her that he had a sixth sense about things. He said that Captain Jim's Life-Book would sell when Anne wondered about the potential market. They were alike in many ways, except that one. Owen's certainty was not stemming from his vast experience as a journalist, but from a more ethereal source. Why should she be surprised at his thread of magic, when he was the schoolmaster's grandson.

Anne extended her urchin face to Owen's, widened her eyes as she found herself agreeing with his accusation, and then looked away, realizing that the baby inside her had joined her Papa in the healing.

"Wat jist happened?" The croaky old shipmaster asked as he pushed up off the floor and took a few limp-less steps to the nearest chair. The leg he stretched out was straight and strong. Perfect. The only flaw was his trousers. They could be repaired but blood stains would always be there.

"I knew Gil twas a witch," the sailor insisted. "Yer a witch too, Mistress Blythe?"

Anne slipped her hand into Gilbert's. Had they been alone, she would have asked him a few questions about what she just did, but somehow, they exchanged that discourse for something more tactile, and she came to the same conclusion an hour of conversation would have brought. She addressed the question without grandeur or hyperbole but spoke as one does when confronting great stress with no immediate solution.

Anne said, "For the next few months, I think, that I am."

* * *

Dora Keith entered the kitchen with a large sketch pad under her arm and a few pencils in her artist cup. She spread out her work so the materials were in front of her. The pictures were upside down to Eugene, but not any less impressive. He didn't know much about visual arts, but he knew talent when he saw it.

"Oh, my! These are really nice." He tried not to be too effusive in his compliment, lest it go to her head, but Mrs. Inglis hadn't lied when she reported Dora's skill in drawing. "And you are self-taught?"

Dora blinked up from her page and blushed a 'yes'.

"You, Miss Keith, should go to art school." Eugene stared at the page before him, amazed at the still life she had drawn. The bowl of fruit seemed perfectly rendered. "Proper training will make you even better."

"I've always had a knack at drawing, but I got better a few years ago. Minnie May Barry gave me one of Diana's old drawing books for my birthday. The rest of the winter, I went through it page by page and learned perspective."

"Natural skill will only take you so far. Trust me, I know," Eugene departed a bit of his past to her. He hadn't always been a doctor. He could remember himself as a young man, being shipped from city to city to perform like a circus act oddity. "I can't remember a time I couldn't play the piano, but I didn't get really spectacular at it until I got myself a proper training. I even met my wife in conservatory."

Eugene was prepared to depart more sage advice to the young woman, but she surprised him with a question his friends refrained from asking. Her frankness caught him off guard.

"What was she like?"

"Victoria? She was plain and proud and she hated me to pieces." Eugene confessed, but he blushed to the memory too. "We butted heads a lot." -Chuckling- "I was a prodigy, but she didn't care. She saw my flaws and pointed out how conceited I was not to fix them. And I assumed because I was gifted I didn't need to practice. She was right though."

"She was?"

Eugene nodded. In retrospect, he couldn't blame his late wife for her initial impressions of him. His notoriety won him solos over her superior work ethic.

"We were assigned to do a duet together and oh, goodness!" Eugene took stock at Dora's peaked face and sobered his grin. Her pencil was no longer moving as she listened. He spared her the more interesting details of _that_ duet. "Well, I finally admitted she was right, and she changed completely."

"Do you still play?" Dora glanced to the direction of the Moore's, where she and Mr. Ford had been practicing Christmas songs.

"Oh no," Eugene shook his head. "I made a deliberate decision after she died to abandon my gift. Walk away before it swallowed me whole."

Playing the piano meant remembering his family, and remembering meant feeling powerless, and feeling thus meant wine. Had he not quit music, he would have turned into a drunkard. But, he wasn't going to tell that to Dora.

"You shouldn't have done that," Dora criticized. "God blessed you for a reason. Like He blessed Gilbert with magic."

Eugene laughed at her flattery, "I don't think it's the same thing. Plenty of people have musical talent. Just like some are good at drawing."

"But you must have been exceptionally good if you were a prodigy," Dora insisted. "That's sort of its own magic. And, you don't have to hide your ability like Gilbert and Miss Blythe do."

Eugene laughed even harder and joked, "You really think Helen hides her abilities?"

Dora turned pink as she saw the flaw in her character assessment. "You know what I was trying to say." She tried to contain her guffaw but found she could not, not when there was a great chuckle across from her. Not too many days ago, she thought she might never laugh again. Dora was chortling so hard, she had to put down her pencil.

Eugene returned to her collection of drawings. He placed a finger over the one that intrigued him the most. "May I see?"

Dora consented and pushed the drawing closer to him. "This is just a practice piece."

Eugene adjusted his glasses and held the drawing out in front of him, as he tried to increase the focal length for clarity. "You know, I saw an old photograph earlier today of this very spot, only, there was a dock there too."

"What?" Dora thought he was lying.

"Oh yes!" Eugene placed that drawing back on the table and turned the page so it was upside down to him. "It was a long one, actually. From here to here." And he tapped the beginning and end points.

"Hmm," Dora said and she took her pencil to modify the sketch. She roughed in a few lines and shaded planks between the just drawn posts. "That would make getting to the sandbar easy. I've asked Captain Jim if he could row me out there and he says 'no' each time."

"I would think a sailor would love to share his mistress, the sea."

"It's not the case," as she traced in a small boat moored to the structure with a rope. "He says that the sandbar has too many bad memories. It's not a safe place anyway. It's sand. It's shifty. When he was growing up, before the lighthouse was built, pirates hid treasure there."

"I think one day I'll have to meet this Captain Jim. I was supposed to meet him tonight." He selected a new sketch to admire. "What about this one?"

"Oh, that one!" Dora got a bit more animated. "I like how the little path to the lighthouse stands out. I added some ferns in the cobble. It looks rustic now. Quiet and peaceful."

Eugene smiled, generally impressed at how such a small detail added an aura of seclusion. "Artistic interpretation, I get it."

"And this one," Dora leaned in, showing him what she had done. "This one I like because of how I've shaded the ocean. More shading here and here for depth. I'm making a drawing for Anne and Gilbert for Christmas. Their first home together. It's why I want to visit the sandbar. So, I can see how the sun hits the House of Dreams."

"Well, they'll love that, especially Anne." Dora had proven her skill.

"I think so. They've helped me so much." Dora gushed a bit, feeling odd that Dr. Felder was taking an interest in her work. "Plus, it's been a good distraction until I have to go home."

"What will you do then?

Dora became serious, her eyes on the pencil as she made heavier lines. "What I want to do is tell all my friends about my son, and about how he came to be, but I promised Marilla I wouldn't unless I'm asked."

"You want to tell your girlfriends about your event?" Dr. Felder's intrigue peaked. There were so many stuffy and wishy-washy women his age that would never be so frank. And here was a sixteen-year-old girl wanting to advocate reproductive issues. "You're not scared of ruffling feathers or causing scandal?"

"No," Dora's eyes flickered. "I know girls that believe the stork brings babies. I just want to sit them down and tell them the truth. It's to their benefit. I suppose it won't be easy for some to hear, but it might give me a chance to talk about my son, Keith."

Eugene crinkled a grin. "You named your son, Keith Keith?"

Dora laughed again, "No, his name is Keith C. Andrews. He does have a father, you know, and it's important to me to recognize that, even if Ralph is a jerk."

"And what does the 'C' stand for?"

"Cuthbert, of course." Dora selected a new pencil from her cup. "To honor Marilla and Green Gables. It's sort of a bribe as I've decided I want the operation you wrote about."

The corners of his mouth curled up into his cheeks. "So, you got my letter after all? I did wonder."

"It took me a few days to discover it. It's not as if you mailed it like a normal person." Dora pointed out. She almost had committed the correspondence to the fire when she discovered it. She thought the envelope was too heavy. "You hid your letter with my note to Ralph."

"Well, I didn't want Anne or Gil to know I sent it." Dr. Felder tilted his head, thinking back to his thought process. "I know Gilbert pretty well. I was certain he'd give you back that card. So, I slipped my letter in when no one was looking. I hoped you'd find it. Um, Gilbert didn't see it, did he?"

Dora shook her head. It would be embarrassing for Gilbert to know about the letter. But there was one problem with the document and Dora told him. "You didn't give Gilbert enough credit."

"I didn't?" Dr. Felder ran a hand over his bald spot. "Well, do put me right."

"Since the moment Gil knew I was pregnant, he's recommended your expertise. He wants me to work with you."

"Ah, I see," Dr. Felder leaned forward and caught Dora's hazel eyes. "I would like to help you, very much. And in return, would you be willing to speak up for my procedure, once you have it? I don't want to push you into this, but, when you were mentioning how you want to tell the world about Keith, I thought ..."

"Yes." Dora cut him off.

"Well, don't say 'yes' quite yet," Dr. Felder said. "You'd have to travel to Baltimore. The operation wouldn't cost you anything as Johns Hopkins is a research hospital, but there would be other expenses and there would be a lot of paperwork." He swallowed, "But, I'd be very grateful."

Dora didn't smile back, not exactly, but it looked like she wanted to. Her face glowed with an interest in his project. "I want to help you with your mission. In a way, doing so makes Keith's life matter. So far, you're the only one that hasn't hinted that I should forget about him."

Eugene exhaled with a huff and eye roll. "People can say the most foolish things because they're not old enough to know better. I promise you though, not everyone will be that way."

Dora wrinkled her nose, confused. "I'd hardly call Marilla 'young', she's in her seventies."

"Humph," Eugene cracked a grin. "Age is just a number, Miss Keith. You'll see this to be true one day. It's one of the few platitudes I actually believe."

Dora remembered how Anne once called her an old soul. He had only reworded a sentiment. She decided what he had said was closer to the truth.

 **to be continued**


	39. Holiday (Part 1)

Special thanks to **MrsVonTrapp** for the beta read.

* * *

Timeline - _Anne's House of Dreams._ Jump ahead a week or so to December 23rd, before Anne and Gilbert's first Christmas together at Four Winds Point.

For a shorter narrative, I am combining events that occur in this book and introducing ideas and characters in a different order. Some characters I am not using at all. It is very helpful to know the events of this book even if I elect to take liberties.

* * *

 _ **And now we continue, Being a Blythe...**_

* * *

 **Chapter 39: Holiday (Part 1)**

 _Nearer, my God to thee! Nearer, to Thee!  
E'en though it be a cross that raiseth me!  
Still all my song would be nearer, my God, to thee!  
Nearer, my God to thee! Nearer, to Thee!*_

Anne Blythe blinked. The legato phrasing drudged up her grief for Matthew. She might be a married woman now, and a graduate of Redmond College, and expecting her first child, but these happy results only covered a deep-seated heartbreak. The tragic music removed the layers of time and she cried again. Pearls of salt drained down her face and she was forced to use her handkerchief.

She felt the weight of Gilbert's hand on her shoulder and her chest tightened. It was a battle now to stay calm and not hiccup for air. The song muddled in her ears, her pulse was more prominent as she gulped. In some ways, feeling support from her spouse made the effort not to cry worse. Gilbert had always helped her release tough memories.

She nodded 'I'm alright' and his hand left her shoulder and brushed down the length of her arm. Anne gripped Gilbert's hand and she directed her grief towards the mourning mother in the room. Anne and Gilbert had done all they could for Dora. There was nothing more to be done. Perhaps one day, the circle of life would net Dora another child, one she could actually hold and show off to her adoring husband. Dora Keith had never been one with flights of fancy or a great imagination, but Anne hoped it was refined enough that she might experience her baby through that lens.

 _Just think on, what our children would be like._ Gilbert had asked of her one day, long ago.

Anne remembered how Gilbert had crossed her arms and had her envision their child. _Would that feeling change, if they inherited a special ability?_ He had asked so earnestly it had made Anne nervous at the time, but her answer held, as firm and certain as a sunrise. Magical or not, she would adore her children. As long as there were many children to love, she would be happy.

Anne's thoughts diverted in prayer for them as she considered Dora's low bun. There was nothing more tragical than to lose a baby. Water welled once more as her grief pointed to the nephew that never was. Her ears opened to the room and she discovered she wasn't the only one affected by the aching hymn.

Dora's unsteady alto cut in and out. Her choking sobs at war with her desire to sing. Dora had such a pretty voice too. She normally led the congregation. Today it wasn't clear and warm or enviable, but breathy in a way that made the fine hairs on Anne's arms stand. Her high notes sounded more like a wail. Even Mrs. Lynde sniffled in the far removed corner, her guarded curiosity conquered by the context of the hour.

Marilla remained silent and unmoved. Anne knew Marilla's ways. Her former guardian moved her lips to the words of the song and closed her ears to the music. She would not permit the hymn to transform her heart, whereas the rest of the womenfolk were adrift.

Anne wrapped her arm around Gilbert's waist for a comforting hug as they were dismissed. She'd have to make his affectionate squeeze last the rest of the afternoon. He was leaving soon on a series of errands. Helen Blythe and her wife, Katherine Brooke, were to be collected from the depot and delivered to the Moore's. Gilbert needed to introduce them to Owen Ford who was still in residence. Leslie and Dick Moore were gone for the holidays. They were visiting family. Anne asked if, in their absence, their rooms might be available for their guests. Leslie needed the money, so an arrangement was made.

Davy grew restless and paced around the chairs, politely checking in on the women as the reception proceeded. He fetched water for his sister and Mrs. Lynde. He checked on Anne as she worked the room with a tray of cookies. Anne had explained to him that she was not feeling dizzy at the moment, that there was a reason for her vertigo, which, they would explain later on, but he still monitored Anne's movements with the same careful eye Gilbert wore. And like Gilbert had done many times, she let Davy feel the firm spot with the palm of his hand. That had made him smile and catch his breath.

When prompted, Davy brought the Cuthbert Bible from Marilla's room as Dora thanked the Catholic minister. The deacon was happy to sign the entry that Marilla had made for Keith C. Andrews. The heirloom bible would show future generations Dora's infant son was part of a bigger family. That he had been wanted, loved, and would be missed. The deacon's signature alongside the funeral date added legitimacy. It was the best headstone they could assign.

The service had been a comfort. It didn't matter that Mrs. Lynde had said 'heresy' during the Ave Maria. His perspective on Holy Scripture was different. Deacon Ferris had preached not of predestination, but of God's graces and his ability to forgive all sin. Davy, in particular, responded to his statement, "Jesus died for sinners and not the righteous." Anne happened to be watching him at that moment. Davy had entered her home a sullen shadow, but the worry he bore lifted to the lesson preached.

Mrs. Lynde cornered Gilbert after Deacon Ferris left. She wanted to know why of all things he asked a Catholic to preside.

"It was a professional courtesy," Gilbert didn't feel like Mrs. Lynde needed to know the finer details. "We've gotten to know each other as we crossed paths at the homes of the sick."

"And there are no Protestant ministers available?" Rachel's brown eyes rolled as she tutted, "Did you even try?"

"I knew he would preach with kindness and understanding. It is a very difficult subject." Gilbert answered, his head turning to see Dora talking with Marilla. "Dora needed someone that believed she lost a baby and not a pregnancy. I am sorry you didn't like him."

"Well, I liked him." Davy cut in before Mrs. Lynde could respond back. Her back and chest pulled up from surprise, like a marionette being moved by the puppet master. She supported her breast from the shock with her splayed out hand.

"He said that we can't know God's ways. That's the most honest thing I've heard from a minister. We can't know if we go to heaven or hell. I don't care what Reverend MacPhearson says. If God exists, and that's a big _if_ , He'd be fair about saving our souls."

"Lawful Heart, Davy Keith!" Mrs. Lynde fanned herself. Her cheeks were pink as if she used rouge. Davy's rudeness reminded Rachel of a certain, red-headed girl. "You won't go to Avonlea church anymore, so I won't hear your opinion about the Almighty and His decrees." With a horrified shudder, Rachel added, "Catholics aren't even Christians. Everyone knows that. They don't read the Bible. They do whatever their Pope says instead."

"I don't believe you, Mrs. Lynde." Davy glared back. The sternness of his stare added volume to his words. "Miss Marin is about as Christian as they come and she's going to become Catholic. All the churches in Cuba are Catholic. It can't be that bad. Mrs. Marin wouldn't let her get involved with the wrong people. She's so protective of her. Too protective if you ask me."

Gilbert looked back and forth between Mrs. Lynde and Davy. His concern was displayed as a single brow above his eyes. Davy had expressed an impatience with church-going before, but went anyway, for the sake of peace. There seemed to be something more underscoring his decision to leave. Like Fred Wright had once done, he was testing the belief system he had been taught and decided he didn't need it anymore.

Gilbert squeezed Davy's shoulder and Davy snapped out of his argument with Mrs. Lynde.

"Davy, did Marilla tell you that you'll be staying at the light with Captain Jim?"

The way Davy shrugged told Gilbert Marilla had said nothing about it. Davy was about to object to his room assignment when Gilbert explained.

"I thought it would be nice for you two to become acquainted. Captain Jim can tell you all about Cuba. He even has a map he can show you."

Davy had a hard time suppressing his smile. His argument with Mrs. Lynde was forgotten.

"Really?"

"Yes, Captain Jim's spent many winters in Havana and he loves talking about his adventures." Gilbert steered Davy away from Mrs. Lynde as he spoke and to the front entrance, where his winter wraps waited. "Unless you would prefer to sleep on our small couch. I can bi-locate and tell Captain Jim there's a change of plans."

"No, no," Davy shook his head. "I'd like to meet him."

"Alright," Gilbert considered Davy as he adjusted his overcoat. Marilla had mentioned during her last visit Davy seemed off, and seeing his brother behave rudely with Mrs. Lynde, Gil had to agree. "Will you tell me what's wrong later? It's not like you to stop going to church when you know how important it is to Marilla."

"Nothing's wrong." Davy scowled, but as Gilbert frowned his disapproval, Davy clarified some of his thoughts. "I miss Millie. I feel like I'll never see her again."

Gilbert knew Davy was sincere, if incomplete in his answer. Complex problems took time to unknot and Davy seemed to have a huge tangle. Gilbert promised himself that he'd find time to spend with Davy. He wished he could take Davy with him on his errand, but he needed the space in his sled for the women and their luggage.

"I'll be back as soon as I can to take you over." Gilbert donned his hat, tipping it slightly as he grabbed his bag. "Davy, I'm so happy you're here. Hang tight."

*/*/*

"He wasn't a priest," Anne repeated.

She passed a tray of cookies to Mrs. Lynde and Mrs. Lynde stopped lamenting long enough to select a perfectly round sugar cookie, one covered in white icing.

"He's a deacon. He even has a family with lots of children. Six boys and two girls. They own a piece of land not far from here. Gil met Deacon Ferris during his house calls to Rhoda Allonby. We like him, even if the rituals are different."

"Oh Anne," Mrs. Lynde said as she snapped out a half moon from her treat. "I have no issue with his profession. Farmers are a prayerful lot as a rule, but the manner of his devotion. Latin! Praying to saints! Worshiping Mary! It was all very superstitious."

"Superstitious?" Anne laughed. _How could such a complaint touch them?_ "Gilbert is a witch! We might know something about the supernatural around here."

Mrs. Lynde grumbled at Anne's reminder but remained firm in her opinions.

"Well, I don't know if my heart can take another shock like that." That was the greatest offense of all, the fact that Rachel had never seen it coming. She believed she was more cosmopolitan and her actions proved her otherwise.

Marilla approached their conference and was greeted with, "I still can't believe you, Marilla Cuthbert. What were you thinking of thanking him for the service! What would your Papa say?"

"My papa's long dead and I'm pleased to have my own opinions. I thought it was a wonderful service for Keith. " Marilla enunciated her words proud of her scandal. Her father had been zealous in his condemnation of Catholics, such that Marilla often feared he was not part of the elect. He hated the French so much. He said their forced removal from Acadia was fortunate.

"Egad!" Mrs. Lynde couldn't believe what she was hearing. She finished her sugar cookie in a gulp. "Well, this has been a day of disappointments, mark my words. First Anne, you tell me Dr. Felder won't be visiting for Christmas because he has to get back to Baltimore. I was looking forward to seeing him, and now this! I'd sooner be an atheist than a Catholic."

"Mrs. Lynde," Anne waved off the hyperbole Rachel offered with her tray-less hand. "Dr. Felder must return to Baltimore, or, he'll lose his job. And, we definitely don't want that to happen. Not with Dora needing his surgical procedure."

"It's just when he called on Green Gables to make arrangements, he said he was planning to be here. And, Marilla has questions for him about..."

"Shh... Dora's right over there." Anne interrupted.

Rachel's eyes searched the room and found Dora reclined on the sofa. She was playing with Lilly, the three-colored cat. The feline brushed against Dora's leg. Dora reached down to pet the creature, just as the cat skedaddled to another room.

"Well, I suppose those questions could be answered by letter. I just want to know when the draymen are needed."

* * *

Anne apologized to Davy before responding to Marilla's strongly put suggestion they should lay down for a nap. Davy would have to just be patient for Gilbert to return.

There was no formula to anticipate the demand on Gilbert's time. He was the village doctor. The modern knight ready to slay the dragon of disease.** That meant prioritizing his patient's health over his family's convenience. Davy nodded in agreement as Anne cited several instances where she had waited for him all night. Gilbert would return, but there was no point in setting a watch by it.

Davy visited with Dora at first, but her interests were and remained far removed from his own. More than once he peered out the window and to the lighthouse. It wasn't that far away, even in a snowstorm, he could make it there safely. He could just go over there, knock, and say, "Hi Captain Jim, I'm Davy Keith. Gil's sort-of-brother and Dora's twin. I'm staying with you tonight." That solution would have worked in his single-digit days, but he was no longer a precocious child.

Mrs. Lynde stayed in the kitchen, earning her keep as Anne's guest, but Davy saw her investigating Anne's scrap pail and bread-box. Mrs. Lynde seemed satisfied with the state of both and put on the yellow apron. At Green Gables, Marilla was the primary chef, but in Anne's kitchen, Rachel could roll back her sleeves and help with the pudding. _What did Anne know about cooking for such a large gathering anyway?_ She had done it many times for her brood. Rachel claimed she missed it.

Dora left for the Moore's to prep the goose for tomorrow's Christmas Eve mid-day meal. With Owen's input, the two homes decided to combine celebrations. Leslie's home was bigger and more comfortable for hosting a crowd. She had the prettiest tableware, courtesy of her mother's expensive tastes. It seemed silly not to use it, and all Owen was asked to do, aside from providing music at the piano, was start the roast at four A.M.

Davy retreated to the barn. The barn was a lot smaller than the smallest stable at Green Gables, but it matched Gilbert's needs. After all, Gilbert was not a farmer with implements to store from the weather. The structure provided necessary shelter for his horse, chickens, and dairy cows. The snug and musty scent enticed him to stay. Davy spotted an iron-gray heater and added some coal to the belly and got to work.

It wasn't that Davy liked to muck stalls and sweep floors. He did them because the task helped his anxiety. His body busied freed up his mind. The real effort was put into puzzling out his worry, looking for a way to escape his guilt. He couldn't stop thinking that he had killed Ralph. Sure, there were caveats surrounding the situation. Gilbert tricked him with his powers, making him think he was shooting at Ralph when really, it had been Gilbert's second body formed to look like Dora's old boyfriend. He didn't know the truth until after he fired two rounds at the decoy. Ralph lived and walked because of this deception.

A happy accident for Ralph but not for Davy. Davy figured he was a murderer. He had wanted Ralph dead for humiliating Dora. Hatred ruled his heart and Satan acted through him. He was damned, had to be. God was gone which made his despair real.

Davy missed Him so much. Which was strange because he never put too much stalk into the Golden Texts and Bible verses he had been forced to memorize, but he had always believed in heaven and hell. It was a comfort knowing his Mama was an angel. Now, he would never see her again. He could only think of one way to fix it.

Davy wanted to apologize to Ralph for his wickedness. If Ralph forgave him, he'd have a second chance with God. But that would take an awful lot of explaining. It would mean telling Ralph Gilbert's secret and Davy had promised Gilbert he'd never fib. He wasn't free to seek out Ralph for absolution. Besides, it was unlikely that Ralph would believe him or even accept his apology. He'd probably think Davy was crazy and laugh at him.

Davy hung the rake back on the wall and meandered to the bench Gilbert used to change his boots. He sat for a moment, remembering to leave a spot for his Miss Marin, but then accepting the fact she wasn't there to join him. His hand even stretched to his side to find her and he pretended for a moment that her tea colored fingers sunk into his palm. Accepting reality, he tipped to his side, lounging over both seats, before rolling to his back.

He draped his coat over his body as he stared up. The rafters had bird nests. The small creatures were almost as fond of his Millie as he was. Millie would know the answer. She knew her Bible better than the preachers, memorizing it because she couldn't read well. He missed her more than he missed Him. Another sin in the count against his case.

He reached into his coat pocket. Down deep, he found it. Millie had sent him a small parcel for Christmas. The envelope was padded, but he could feel beads through the quilted paper. It was a chain or necklace. Davy pulled the package from his coat pocket to wonder over it again.

"Open on Xmas" was the block-print. It was the only instruction next to his name, "Mr. David Keith". There was no "in care of Miss Marilla Cuthbert" on this mailing. That was a curiosity in itself.

He debated if he could really wait two more days and pinched the small lumps. "I wonder what this is?"

A disembodied, yet distinctly female voice said. "Seems like there's an easy way to find out."

A chill trickled down his spine as he sat up and looked for the source. The only other creatures in the barn with him were the two cows and they were busy chewing their cud, nevermind their expressive eyes. He tried to shake off the creepy sensation, but his ears remained on high alert. In the background, but growing louder, he could hear bells pealing. Gilbert was on his way back home. Davy decided that he hallucinated the voice and his heart calmed.

He stuffed Miss Marin's gift back into his coat pocket and went for the barn doors. His ears hadn't lied, Gilbert was coming home and his flamboyant horse pranced to announce it. Davy was ready and waiting and Gilbert drove the sled straight into the shelter.

"Thanks!" Gilbert said over his shoulder as Davy closed the doors.

Gilbert unbuckled Monty, explaining. "It's not that far from the light, we'll walk. I'd rather let Monty rest and warm a bit. It took me longer over at the Moore's than I thought it would and he stood outside in the snow." He rubbed his horse's side. "Sorry, Monty-boy. You're a good horse, too good for the likes of me."

Monty tossed back his head and his bells rung one last time. He turned his long head to Gilbert and shook it to disagree. The horse had an opinion of his master's worth and wasn't afraid to show it.

Davy attended to the leather harness on the other side of the sled. "What happened over there?"

Gilbert's face brightened when he saw Davy's familiar hazel eyes. It was easy to tell Davy his concerns and his jutted jaw relaxed.

"Well, it turns out, the world is a pretty small place, especially when it comes to magic. It seems Miss Brooke and Mr. Ford were already acquainted. It was not a very happy reunion for a few uncomfortable minutes."

Now Davy looked confused and abashed. He was honored to know about Miss Marin's animal charming powers, but knowing about Gilbert's magic, or anyone else's, was still hard.

"Why was it a magical reunion?" Davy asked with trepidation. He wasn't sure he wanted to know.

"Oh Davy," Gilbert realized how he had misspoken. Miss Brooke did not want others to know her as a leech. She had been quite vocal about that when confronting her old neighbor, Owen Ford. "I'm sorry, I can't say a thing more about that. I'm going to have to ask that you forget what I mentioned."

"Should I be worried?" Davy was now more puzzled with Gilbert's reaction than his report. It wasn't like Gilbert not to explain himself fully.

"No, not at all," Gilbert said it so convincingly that Davy did in fact, stopped worrying about the bad reunion. "It was Mr. Ford's mother and grandfather, and Miss Brooke's mother that had the dispute. And the reason why there was animosity is more complicated than what I can explain. On the bright side, it's a wonderful chance for those two to settle past hurts."

"I see." The reply was automatic because Davy didn't see at all.

"Now, why are you in the barn of all things?" Gilbert would have grabbed the rake and mucked the stall but could see Davy had done that. "I thought you'd be spending some more time with Anne."

"Marilla forced Anne to take a nap, and I was underfoot. Besides, I find barns peaceful."

"Cows are good listeners," Gilbert gestured towards the bench and they sat down together. "I'm a good listener too. I'd like to prove it. What's troubling you?"

Davy Keith wasn't going to ask Gilbert about his religious crisis, even though he knew Gilbert had joined the Avonlea church back when he was his age. He knew that his questions couldn't be answered with absolute certainty. Gilbert wasn't an authority and that's what Davy needed. Besides, any mention of his damnation might spoil Gilbert's happiness.

"You like being married," Davy said as an afterthought. "I can tell."

Gilbert nodded. A faint smile stretched across his lips. "Yes, I knew I would, but, it's even better knowing that I've planned a future for both of us, and our family. Our little girl is due in June." Gilbert said it with an air of disbelief.

"Congratulations, you're sure it's a girl now?"

"Yup," Gilbert beamed. He would have beamed if it were a boy too. "Anne's already making clothes from an old dress of hers. And, if I ever have time, I'm going to embroider Joy's name to the front of the bib."

Davy tensed up as a thought came across him. It was a very personal question, but one that he and Milty speculated on. Gilbert would know the answer, now that he was going to become a father.

"Gil, what's it... what's it like?" Davy whispered. He looked straight ahead and at the pegged wall. Carpentry tools hung from every height imagined.

Gilbert glanced at Davy for clarification. "What's _what_ like?"

Davy's flush passed beet red and turned purple. He rushed out, "Never mind. Forget I asked."

"Oh!" Now Gilbert's face heated but then his laugh grew into a tease. He felt like he understood his father in a new way. "You want to know about sex!"

"Gil!" Davy rolled his eyes, frustrated. Davy repeated. "I said forget about it. You don't have to answer me."

But Gilbert assured him, "Davy, it's alright. You can ask me. It's normal to be curious."

Davy hesitated to breathe. Ever since Dora had done it, he didn't think it was fair she had an insight he did not. He considered asking Mr. Blythe some of his questions but knew Gilbert would be less graphic in his answers.

Davy exhaled a misty-white puff of air and plucked up his courage.

"I don't want details." Davy said, "But, is it..? Is it, nice?"

 _God, what a stupid question._ Davy let it stand in spite of his regret for it.

The apples on Gilbert's face plumped. "Nice?" Gilbert couldn't quite believe that was what Davy wanted to know and his smile stretched to his ears. "Davy, it's wonderful!"

"I know that."

"You do?"

"I mean, it's what I assume, except, it's not so nice for her, is it?"

"Davy, love is always nice." Gilbert meant to be ambiguous and spoke in sweeping generalities, but changed his tactic when he saw Davy's eyes flare. He was dodging the question. "Alright, the physical part can take a little bit of time to get right, I won't lie to you, but even then, it really is a wonderful moment to be so intimate with the woman you love."

Encouraged by Gilbert's response, Davy felt safe to continue. "But Gil... What does it.. feel like?" His postured dropped the moment he heard himself ask, certain it was too personal.

Gilbert tried to converse naturally. "Well, you're old enough to have some inkling of what it might feel like. Davy, that's perfectly normal too. Nothing to be ashamed about."

"Oh Geez!" Davy put his hands over his ears because he didn't want to acknowledge Gilbert's hint. "You're as bad as your father."

Gilbert laughed, "Dad used to talk about seeds and planting times. He loved making me feel as uncomfortable as possible."

Davy checked Gilbert's face, it was still warm and kind. No line had been crossed.

"He gave me that same speech."

"Dad likes you," Gilbert sighed, thinking of his parents. They declined his invitation to come for the holidays.

John and Geraldine Blythe were in New Brunswick. Helen's father, Raymond, was sick with cancer and would die before summer. Gilbert would have gone too if healing a family member were possible. Blythe magic couldn't help other Blythes, not in normal circumstances anyway.

"He does?" Davy squinted back.

"Sure he does."

Gilbert pushed down the lump in his throat with his affirming nod. He wanted to give Davy a better answer, a fatherly one, but he also wanted to protect Anne's privacy. Bedroom matters weren't bragging points to him.

"To answer your question, the very best part of making love is what happens here." Gil pointed to his head. The mirth in his eyes ended. He was not joking. "And you know a bit about that already."

Davy made a disagreeing face. "I don't think so. I never even kissed Miss Marin, except on the cheek the day before she left. She was crying and it was very wet."

"Davy, let me ask you this. How did it feel when you held Miss Marin's hand, back when it was new?"

Davy glowed a bit as he embraced the memory. "I was nervous, really nervous, but when she squeezed my hand back, I felt so happy. It's odd. Feeling timid and strong at the very same time, and then knowing she likes me too. Her hand in mine, mine in hers."

"And how did you feel when you let her hand go?"

"Like I lost something precious."

"Well," Gilbert's eyebrows wiggled in understanding. "That's exactly what it is like, only, multiplied by a hundred."

 **to be continued**

* * *

* _Nearer My God to Thee_ by Sarah Flower Adams, 1841.

**Anne of Avonlea, BBC production 1975 (clips available on YouTube)

"Knight" and "dragon" are paraphrased from Gilbert's proposal to Anne, which was rejected. Anne was pretty harsh, but I can't say I blame her when he said, "Every knight needs his lady-love to keep his castle clean." Yikes!


End file.
